Kush
by LayAtHomeMom
Summary: "One hit will make you change your mind."
1. Chapter 1

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!**

* * *

"Knock, knock." I look up to see my office nemesis, Jessica, darkening my cubicle entry. Unsurprisingly she doesn't knock, nor does she wait for confirmation to enter before barging in, but she _is_ carrying a cupcake, so I'll allow it. "I didn't see you at the stand-up meeting." She makes a pouty face and offers up said cupcake. "So I just wanted to bring you this and tell you goodbye."

"Aww, thanks so much," I say, trying to conceal my joy that she'll no longer be working here after today. "I'm so sorry I missed it. I've just been swamped." I quickly minimize the Buzzfeed quiz on my screen, though I'm dying to know which Real Housewife I am. "So you're heading out?"

"Yeah," she sighs and plops down in the chair across from me. Her eyes wander over my cube, silently judging my space with a cocked brow. "I'm going to miss it here, but I just couldn't pass up this opportunity."

 _And here we go_. "I'll bet." I slowly pull the wrapper from the cupcake and wait for her to launch into all the perks of working at a real publication.

"I mean, this job was so fulfilling. I've learned _so_ much and I feel like I've really made a difference."

I nod emphatically, totally in agreement that she actually _thinks_ she's advanced womankind and revolutionized cocksucking with her _Blowjob Boot Camp_ articles. Surely Millennials everywhere are rejoicing in their newfound knowledge that humming the song from _Star Wars_ while giving head will make them exponentially more datable according to her extensive research.

"But as much as I love it here, I need a change."

When she says 'a change', I suspect she really means 'a benefits package' which she quickly confirms by the casual mention of her 401(k) savings plan and flexible spending account. I shove the cupcake in my mouth to stop myself from saying something shitty like 'have fun working for the man'. The sweet frosting of the cupcake only adds to my bitterness when I realize it's from a legit bakery and not made by the office smoker whose baked goods typically come with a hint of ash and a coating of cat hair.

"There's just so much opportunity for growth. I had to go for it."

"Of course you did," I say, hoping that my words don't sound as condescending as I intend them.

"I knew you'd get it."

We sit in awkward silence for a moment before she stands and throws her arms out like she wants a hug. "Well, I guess this is goodbye."

 _More like good riddance_. I stand and go in for my typical three pat hug. The one, two, three and release, but no, she's a rocker. She gets me in her kung-fu grip and refuses to let go until we look like we're slow dancing. Thankfully my phone rings, and I swear I've never been happier to take a call in my life.

"I need to take this." I sound positively giddy, maneuvering out of her hold. "Good luck!"

"Let's do lunch!"

 _Never gonna happen_. "We should, that'd be fun."

She holds her fingers up to her ear and mouths the words 'call me' when I pick up the receiver.

I give her the OK sign in lieu of the finger and wave as she trots out of the cubicle.

"This is Bella."

"You're welcome," says a familiar deep male voice.

"Emmett?"

He laughs as I stand on my tiptoes to look over the sea of cubicles trying to locate my roommate. "Conference room."

Whipping around, I see him sitting at the glass-enclosed room across from my cube with an amused smirk on his face before hanging up and making his way over.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He places a cup of coffee and a small bag in front of me which makes me instantly suspicious. "And with gifts?"

Sitting down, he leans back into the chair and drums his fingers on the arm rests. "Can't I bring my best friend a latte and a scone just because?"

After five years of friendship, three of which spent as his roommate, I know all of his tells and if his inability to sit still and too cool exterior is any indication, I'd say Emmett's nervous. "I suppose," I say cautiously, wrapping my hands around the coffee cup, "since I've barely seen you the past few weeks."

He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, wincing a bit. "I know. Figured I should show my face before you put me on the back of a milk carton."

"Nah." I wave my hand and give him a wink. "The toilet seat was up and you left your dishes in the sink. I knew you were still alive."

"So listen," he says with an enthusiastic clap before resting his elbows on his knees. "How about we go out tonight?"

I shake my head. "Can't. I'm busy."

"Doing what, trawling Tumblr for Outlander porn?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"That hardly qualifies as busy. C'mon, we'll grab some dinner, hit up a party."

"Pass. I'm not really interested in watching you and your friends doing burpee competitions all night."

"It's not that kind of party; it's more like a soirée."

"A soirée." My words come out with a bit of a chuckle. "Since when do you do soirées?"

"I don't," he starts, rubbing his hands together and stilling his bouncing knee. "I mean, I didn't, but …" The biggest grin breaks out over his face and he looks up at me just beaming. "I've met someone."

"Annnnddd?"

"And I want you to meet her."

"Emmett," I sigh, leaning back in my chair and remembering all of the issues and mishaps we've had over the years with his girlfriends. "Isn't it a bit early for her to meet me? I mean, didn't we agree after the kiss-cam debacle with Maggie that we should wait like a minimum of three months before your girlfriends meet me?"

Nodding his head, he laughs. "We did, but this one's different."

"I doubt it. You, my friend, have a type."

"No I don't."

"Lemme guess, she wears full makeup to workout, takes gym selfies and posts them on Instagram with hashtags like _thigh gap_ and _skinny girl problems_." He chuckles at my apt description of every girl he's dated in the past two years because he knows it's true. "I mean it's totally fine that chicks that look like Skeletor do it for you."

"She doesn't look like Skeletor," he mutters, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"Oooh." My grin widens as I steeple my hands and waggle my fingers together with unrestrained glee. "Is she a big booty Judy?"

"Rose," he corrects unable to hide his smile.

"A big booty Rose. I see."

"Just Rose and she doesn't have … well, I mean she does have a great ass, but she's a—" he stutters over the last part of the sentence. "She's great." He looks up at me, eyes pleading. "And she's _important_."

That word hangs there for a moment as I don't recall Em ever using _that_ word to describe a girl he's dated before. "I've been interested in her for months, but I thought she'd be creeped out by her trainer hitting on her. We did the friend thing for a while and a few weeks ago she asked me out, so … yeah."

"So what I'm hearing is that she has a great ass _and_ bigger balls than you."

We laugh and he relaxes into his seat. "Probably. She's just, I don't know, different. She's fun and weird and crazy smart."

"What does she do?"

"She's like a pharmacist or some shit."

"Well she sounds great."

"So you'll come to the party tonight to meet her?"

"Mmm, pass."

He gives me a look and shakes his head. "I didn't want to have to do this, but …" Leaning across the desk he points to a small scar just above his eyebrow. "Remember this?"

"How could I forget you getting your ass kicked by two chicks in a parking lot?"

"I was defending your honor."

"Uh, the way I remember it, you were defending yourself."

"Wrong. Let the record show, I was the only dude at that chick fest."

"It was a Justin Timberlake concert, but go on."

"I was just trying to be nice when I asked that guy how much he squats."

"Yes well, _she_ didn't take it as a compliment."

"How was I to know? She was wearing a flannel and had bigger lats than me."

"You called her _dude_."

"I call you dude all the time. Listen," he pauses and places his hand over his heart like he's about to drop some inspirational shit on me. "Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge feminist. I even have a t-shirt."

"It says ' _I like women on top_.'"

"Exactly," he gestures towards me, "and you're welcome. But let's get down to brass tacks here. When her girlfriend started swinging her purse, did I or did I not jump in front of you and take the purse buckle to the brow?"

"You did and I _love_ how you make it sound like it was a bullet."

"Thank you."

"However." I hold up a finger. "You've used the scar to guilt me several times already. I'm afraid it's no longer valid."

His brows furrow in confusion. "What? When?"

"Uh, let's see. Two years ago when you guilted me into shaving your back before spring break and every vacation since. Last month, when you had me go buy you hemorrhoid cream. Tuesday morn—"

"Fine. I got it. I just thought saving that gorgeous face of yours would earn me a little more leeway." He winks and for a split-second, his flattery almost works.

Almost.

"I've saved you quite a few times too, buddy."

"Never happened."

"Remember when you were going to get the word _reckless_ tattooed across your back in Cabo?"

"Not this again. You're like the only person on earth who knows that reckless isn't spelled with a 'w' for Christ's sake."

"No," I drag the word out, "but I was the only person in that tattoo parlor who knew the correct spelling."

"Whatever." We're quiet for a moment before he claps his hands again. "So you'll come with me tonight?"

"Nah."

"Come on, B! It's on a rooftop; there'll be appetizers and music."

I shake my head. "No thanks."

"And there'll be booooooze," he sings the last word and follows it up with the clincher. "Open bar, all night long."

I pretend to mull it over. "Fine, what time and what do I wear?"

"Yes!" He pumps his fist. "Wear all black and we'll head over around eight."

"Sounds good." I open the bakery bag, excited to see my favorite lemon scone. "And for future reference, maybe next time, lead off with the open bar, it'll save you the verbal sparring."

"Good to know."

"Thanks for the pastry by the way, it was a nice touch." I rip off a piece of the scone and pop it into my mouth before tearing off another. "I'm like starving over here."

Confusion colors his features again. "Dude, I just saw you eat a cupca—" I silence him with a look. "I mean, you're welcome."

* * *

"Keep the change," Em tells the cabbie and holds the door open for me.

As I slide out of the car, I notice we're in one of the new up and coming neighborhoods where old factories are being renovated into open office work spaces and luxury lofts. "Where's the party?"

The cab pulls away as Emmett jerks his chin across the street. "Over there, where Rose works."

The building looks similar to the others with its brick front and industrial style windows. The only difference is that the first floor windows are completely frosted apart from the small green leaves etched into the glass of the French doors. Now the large letters THC hovering over the entrance make perfect sense.

"What the fuck," I mutter under my breath and turn on Emmett, pinching him hard above his elbow. "You brought me to a pot shop?"

"Oww!"

"I thought you said she was a pharmacist."

"I said she was _like_ a pharmacist. Big difference."

"You lured me here under false pretenses."

"I lured you here with booze, which is right up there," he points to the rooftop then offers his arm, "and it's still free I might add."

"This so isn't my scene," I say, linking my arm with his as we cross the street.

"Quit clutching your pearls, Prudence." He gives me a wink. "Live a little."

We head around to the back of the building where an impeccably dressed man ushers us in and directs us to take the freight elevator to the fifth floor, then take the roof access stairs on the right. Emmett barely has the elevator cage shut before I start in.

"For the record, there was no pearl clutching. I'll have you know I've dabbled recreationally." I cross my arms over my chest. " _Once_."

"Fine, no pearl clutching."

"Thank you." I nod, albeit a bit smugly, reveling in my vindication.

He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "But your Charlie Swan is showing a little bit."

"Whatever. You know I can't help it." My lips twist to the side because I know he's right. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to conceal the paranoid cop kid inside of me. I notice he's fidgeting again, straightening his clothes and blowing out a deep breath. "Nervous?"

"A little."

"Why? It's just me. I mean, I know I can be mean and stuff, but deep down—"

"You're mean and stuff."

"Ass." I go for another pinch but he dodges me.

"Kidding, but I really want you to like her."

"I'm sure I will." _Hopefully_. "As long as she doesn't start peddling her handmade hemp necklaces and cannabis scented soaps to me."

Huffing out a laugh, he shakes his head. "She's nothing like that. Trust me, you'll love her. And this place," he gestures at the walls, "this is where she works. It's just a job." I nod. "It's what she does, not who she is, you know?"

"Got it."

All his lecturing and vagueness has my head spinning as we climb the stairs to the roof. I'm picturing a faceless Rose wearing a floor-length tie-dye skirt with an armful of old festival wristbands and tufts of hair under her armpits. What I'm not expecting is the statuesque blonde making her way across the rooftop, beaming at my best friend.

"Wow," I breathe.

"I know. Swanky, right?" Em asks, looking up at the grid of hanging lights against the sky. "You'd never expect that all this was up here."

"I meant your girlfriend. She's like—"

"I know." He takes a few steps towards her, holding his hand out. "Hey beautiful." Pulling her close, he pecks her on the cheek and whispers something against her skin before looking at me. "Bells, this is Rose."

"Hi," she extends her hand, smiling brightly with her eyes twinkling beneath her flawless Adele eyeliner, "it's _so_ good to finally meet you!"

Her grip is strong, but not in a menacing way like his girlfriends before. Those chicks were sending a message, this one not so much. "It's great to meet you, too."

"Why don't you two go find a seat and I'll grab some drinks," Emmett offers, motioning to the bar.

"Ooh, good call." She presses a hand to her chest. "I'll have a vodka tonic. Bella?"

"Same."

"Two vodka tonics—got it." He turns to leave when Rose speaks again.

"Ya know, better double up on that, I don't want you running to the bar all night. Bella?"

I smile at Em, thinking this one may be all right after all. "Same."

For the next thirty minutes, Rose and I gab nonstop. Emmett's right; this girl is nothing like the others. She's smart and sweet _and_ she eats carbs which pretty much makes her Mary Poppins in my book. _Practically perfect in every way,_ except for the whole running for fun thing _._ Apparently that's how she and Emmett got to know each other, training together to run a 10K. I make a mental note to find her on Instagram to see if they take those gym couple pics where they kiss above the chin-up bar and use questionable hashtags like _fit couple_ or _beauty and the beast mode._

"So we're thinking of doing a mud run in a few weeks," she mentions casually between sips of her drink. "You want to do it with us?"

"Bella doesn't run," Em chimes in, "she shuffles."

"I can run," I counter indignantly to which Rose smiles weakly, looking relatively unconvinced so I add, "I even have a treadmill."

"That she hangs her clothes on."

I'm about to give him the finger when the clinking of glasses rings out from across the rooftop. "They're here," Rose whispers, tapping Em's knee and pointing to the bar area. Em and I both look over to see a crowd forming, surrounding a striking blond man with a slender woman at his side. "That's Carlisle and Esme, the owners."

Polished and pressed from head to toe, the blond seems like he's a suit trying not to look like a suit with his casual stance and top button undone while the woman beside him appears a little less stiff with her flowing dress and wavy hair.

"Huh," Emmett blurts, studying the couple with a furrowed brow, "I expected them to be hippies."

"Pfft. No way," Rose scoffs. "Esme is a bit of a free spirit, but not Carlisle. Before this he was a hedge fund manager. He's actually a –"

I tune her out, focusing my attention on the younger, taller version of the Wolf of Wall Street sidling up to the couple. It's clear the men are related with their similar facial features and uncanny ability to work a suit. But for every likeness, they're vastly different. I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Who's that?" I ask just above a whisper, not really meaning to say it aloud.

Rose follows my gaze and smirks when she sees who I'm asking about. "That's Carlisle's brother, Edward." She lowers her voice. "But everyone calls him _E.C_."

The clinking stops altogether as Carlisle steps forward and the partygoers quiet down to hear him speak.

"This is an exciting time in the cannabis industry, my friends. The green rush is upon us and I am … _confident_ ," he pauses, letting that word hang there for a moment, "that The Healing Collective will soon be at the forefront of this movement." He slips his hand into his pants pocket and rocks back on his heels. "When I approached each of you, asking you to consider investing in this vision, I promised you that THC would have an _edge_." Shifting, he faces the other side of the rooftop. "I … _assured_ you that our establishment would be _the_ premier dispensary for medicinal and recreational cannabis in the state. Did I not?"

I notice several of the guests nodding to which he smiles wolfishly. "Exclusivity, my friends, it has its merits." Lowering his head, he takes a few steps and places his hand on his brother's shoulder before looking out to the crowd again. "And thanks to this young man right here, not only will THC breed, grow, and sell the most potent strains on the market today; we will also be _the_ sole distributor of his future Cannabis Cup winning strain."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses," he continues, stepping forward and holding his beer bottle high above his head. "To all the green on the horizon." There are some hoots and hollers and laughter from the crowd. "The green that'll line our pockets and the green that will put us on the map, THC's very own hybrid marijuana strain … E.C. Kush."

* * *

 **A/N: *Lay and Carrie ZM wave frantically* Hi all! It's been a while, but we're back with a quickie. Updates will be every Thursday night until complete.**

 **Huge love and thanks to my fellow Admins at The Lemonade Stand for teasing Kush on their Sneak Peek feature. I appreciate it, pals!**

 **Lots of great fics out there right now, but here's a couple we're loving. Time to let it WIP!**

 **Dark Thing Make a Myth of Yourself by bicyclesarecool - *swoons* Check this one out peeps – you'll love this starry-eyed Edward so, so much.**

 **Island Nights by Compass54 - *twirls* A bad boy gone good and done right by our fandom love from down unda', Compass54. Don't miss it, pals!**

 **We're always looking for new fics to read - make sure to let us know which WIP is owning you these days.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

"Come on," Rose says, pulling on Em's arm, "I want you to meet Carlisle and Esme. You'll love them."

Emmett glances at me. "You cool?"

"Obviously." I sip my drink then wave him off. "I'm fine, go ahead."

Stirring my vodka tonic, I check out the crowd. It's a good mix of people, all ages and tax brackets, hardly the 4/20 shindig I expected when I found out the party was at a dispensary. I watch as Rose introduces Emmett to her boss. They're all smiles, doing the man-shake thing with the pat on the bicep for good measure.

A throat clears beside me and the couch cushion dips. "Do you mind if I, uh …" the low voice fades off and I'm about to Forrest Gump him. Let him know the seat's taken—but then I see him.

A better friend would save her bestie's seat and forgo the opportunity to ogle the gorgeous man beside her. She'd be utterly unaffected by the absolute perfection of his face, everything from the strong line of his jaw to the sexy smattering of scruff on his cheeks. A better friend would politely shoo him away as she'd have no interest in knowing if his haphazard hair is as soft as it looks or what his lips would feel like pressed against hers. Surely that's what a _better_ friend would do.

 _Looks like Emmett needs to choose better friends._

"Sure."

"Thanks." He smiles and relaxes into his seat, looking at the partygoers and tapping his fingers on his beer bottle. We sit in awkward silence for what feels like a good five minutes. Just as I reach for my phone to send an 'I'm bored, entertain me' text to my sister, he speaks.

"So," he drags out the word, watching the beer bottle rolling back and forth between his palms. "Are you having a nice time?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, you really can't go wrong with an open bar though, right?"

"True." He laughs and meets my gaze, extending his hand. "I'm Edward."

"Bella."

"Bella," he repeats, giving my hand a small squeeze. "Are you an investor?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm a writer by trade, but tonight, I'm a party crasher." Pointing over to Rose and Emmett who are now doing shots with her employers, I continue, "I'm with them though."

"A writer, huh?"

"Not like novels or anything. I write for _Awarify_ _Magazine_."

" _Awarify_?"

I nod, a bit embarrassed. "I'm pretty sure the founder got the name from the Urban Dictionary. He's been trying for months now to get the word 'Awaricans' to happen too. He's kind of a mess, but he's pretty cool about letting us write what we want."

"So current issues, politics, music and the like?"

"Yeah, uh, lifestyle, editorials, basically anything that's significant to 20-45 year olds these days. It's all online, so think _Vice_ , but way less relevant and way, way less popular."

"Sounds cool."

"What's good, E.C?" a deep voice booms. When I look up, I see two men approaching; the larger of the two has his arms open wide. Edward stands to greet him doing that whole grasp hands and bump opposite shoulders handshake. "My man."

"How's it going, Jenks?" He nods at the other guy before doing the same dude-greeting. "Jake."

"Goin' well," the big man he calls Jenks says before holding up a blunt and motioning to the empty corner of the rooftop. "Your boy gave me a little sample of my investment. You in?"

"Nah, man. I'm just going to hang out here for now." Edward gestures towards the couch, but when Jenks sees me, his grin widens.

"Well, hello there." Jenks reaches for my hand and winks. "Enchanté."

"Bella, this is Jenks. Investor, cannabis enthusiast, and the Weed Editor for _The Chronicle_. Bella's a writer too." The corner of Edward's lip turns up. "She writes for _Awarify_."

"Is that right?"

"Dude, Leah's on my ass. Are we blazin' or what?" The other guy, Jake, speaks up from behind Jenks.

"Better light it up quick before Jake's whipped ass is late for curfew," Edward says with a laugh.

"Yep." Jenks gives us a nod while Jake makes a face. We watch as they head back to the corner of the roof where it's not as well lit. A few more guys follow them, and I start to feel bad that Edward's only staying back to be polite.

"You sure you don't want to join them?"

Shaking his head, he leans forward placing his elbows on his knees. "Nah. No stoner circles for me. What about you?" He nudges me with his arm. "Do you want to partake?"

My cheeks flood with heat. "No thanks. I mean, I have … partaken before. It's just not my thing."

"Not your thing," he mutters, focusing on his beer bottle again.

"I just don't get the appeal. Like, to each his own or whatever, I'm totally free to be you and me, but I don't get it. I tried it once and the experience was borderline traumatic and _super_ fattening." Tipping his head back, he laughs hard. "I'm serious. I had like three pot brownies."

His eyes go wide. "Three?"

"I didn't feel anything so I ate another and another. An hour later, I couldn't lift my head, and I'm pretty sure I spent the entire night freaking out in my friend's bathtub, eating a roll of cookie dough like I was snapping into a Slim Jim. Not my finest hour."

"Sounds like you greened out pretty bad."

I shrug. "Probably, but that's what I get for accepting baked goods from a dealer named Squid."

Nodding, he brings his beer bottle to his lips, taking a quick glance at the corner of the roof. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to join your friends?"

"Nope. I'm not a fan of the group smoke thing. It's just," his eyes meet mine, "not _my_ thing."

"I thought sharing is caring."

"Sharing is gross."

My brow lifts slightly. "Enlighten me."

He shifts closer to me, touching my shoulder with his as he leans in. "Okay for starters, my boy Jenks only smokes blunts. Being a joint man, myself, I'm a bit more of a traditionalist. I don't like anything that alters the flavor."

"Doesn't it still taste like ass either way?"

He looks taken aback. "It must have been a _really_ bad batch."

"I just distinctly recall it tasting like Duncan Hines-flavored ass." I wave my hand. "But please, continue."

"My buddy, Jake over there," he points his beer bottle in his direction and lowers his voice, "has an over active salivary gland."

"Eww."

"Yep. Smoking with him is like sharing a chew toy with a Saint Bernard."

"Gross."

"And then there're asshats like this one." He jerks his chin at a guy slinking back to the corner, hacking up a lung into his elbow. "Creeping up on them like the fuckin' _Outbreak_ monkey with his mouth full of the next pandemic disease."

"Those people are the worst."

Wagging his finger back and forth, he disagrees. "No, _those_ people are the worst." He points to a man who appears to be bogarting the blunt while the others look on annoyed. "Look at him over there just watching it burn. He's probably mindlessly monologuing about how shitty his stocks are performing or some other ridiculous first world problem."

"Ooh, like how he's _so_ pissed at that Chipotle employees always remind him that guac is extra."

"Exactly." He bumps my shoulder again. "He's _that_ guy."

"Or he's just letting the blunt dry off." I shrug. "You know, since your buddy Jake just took a hit."

"Could be." He smiles before lifting his bottle to his lips. "But I doubt it."

"E.C.," Carlisle calls, waving him over to the bar and jerking his head toward a group of people who I can only assume are investors.

"Shit," he grumbles, scooting up in his seat.

"Duty calls, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He turns to me and grins, making my stomach flip when he gives me a wink. "Great to meet you, Bella."

I feel the blush creep up my cheeks as he waves goodbye. "Likewise."

* * *

"Could you possibly be more disgusting?" I ask Emmett, who's just come in from a run.

Dripping with sweat, he's cooling himself off in front of the fridge and chugging our Sunny D directly from the bottle. He wipes his mouth then belches loudly. "Yup."

"Special." My eyes move back to my laptop screen, and I push my glasses up on my nose.

"What are you working on?"

I twist my lips to the side, debating on whether or not I want to tell him that I'm still crushing on Rosalie's hot coworker a week later. "Nothing really. Just kinda looking up qualifying conditions for a medical marijuana prescription."

"This for a story or something?"

I give him a look. "Or something."

He hops up on the counter, smirking and shaking the Sunny D bottle. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that guy from the party, would it?"

I avoid eye contact and the question all together. "Which one of these conditions do you think I could pull off? Migraines, severe nausea, PMS, chronic—"

"PMS," he blurts. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off again. "Like a lot."

"O-kay."

"You're the _ideal_ candidate."

I level him with a glare. "Got it."

Three soft knocks rap at the door, followed by Rosalie's voice. "It's me."

"Come in," Em and I say in unison.

She bops in, looking stunning in her gym bunny outfit while I'm looking positively homeless in my sweats and tank top. "Good morning," she beams, waving to me before wrapping her arms around Em's waist and kissing him full on the mouth like he doesn't smell like a jock strap.

"Morning," he mumbles against her lips. "I was just helping Bella here decide which ailment can get her a prescription for some medical Mary Jane."

Rose whips around. "Oh my God, are you sick?"

"Uh no, I just—"

"She just wants an excuse to see your coworker again." My eyes narrow as his shit-eating grin widens.

"Who?" Rose's eyes get big and her voice gets higher. "E.C.?"

My blush gives me away and Emmett pumps his fist. "I knew it! I'm the smartest man alive!"

"I wouldn't go that far." I roll my eyes at the questionable little dance he's doing. "And you're a terrible dancer."

"I'm a phenomenal dancer. You know this."

He's right, he is a fantastic dancer and I have proof of this. "Hey Rose, did you ever meet Em's alter ego?"

"You wouldn't."

Em's smug grin disappears as soon as I hand Rose my cell phone to show her my wallpaper, and I can't help but smile. "Oh I would."

"This. Is. Golden." Rose cackles, unable to take her eyes off the pic I snapped of Em senior year when his fraternity put on a drag show to raise money for their philanthropy. He looks glorious up there on stage, mid-shimmy clad in a beaded gold minidress, heels, and a long blond wig. "Please tell me he has an equally fabulous drag name. Like Ima Mess or something."

"Nope. It's better," I say, giddy at the mortified look on Emmett's face. "It's—"

"It's Dixie," he interrupts, humping the air. "Dixie Normous."

"Dixie Normous," she enunciates slowly.

Smirking, he taps her on the nose with the tip of his finger. "You know it."

"Eww," she shrieks as he picks her up and peppers her neck with kisses. "Hit the shower!"

"Fine." He puts her down and pecks her on the cheek before turning to point at me. "I'll remember this."

"I'm sure you will."

"You're gonna rue the day."

"I already do." I wave him off. "Smell ya' later, Dixie."

She waits until he's out of ear shot and the bathroom door closes before sliding into the seat beside me. "Can you send me that pic?"

I slip her my phone. "Have at it."

"Thanks." Her fingers quickly move over the screen. "I'm pretty sure this is going to be the picture I put on his birthday cake next month."

"That sounds amazing! Like the best gift ever."

"Yeah. For us." She looks up from the phone. "I added myself as a contact. I hope that's okay."

"Definitely."

Relieved, she smiles. "So E.C., huh?"

"I hardly know him." I rest my chin on my hand and fight the urge look away.

"But you'd like to."

"Can you blame me?"

"I can hook—"

An awkward chuckle slips from my lips as I shake my head. "I don't want to put you in a weird spot with your coworker."

Rapping her fingernails on the counter, she mimics my position. "What if you got to know him in a professional capacity?"

"Like as in a customer?" My eyes wander to the qualifying conditions for medical marijuana on my screen.

"No, as a reporter. Carlisle's always looking for press. Your publication is online, so your reach is pretty far, right?"

"Yeah, we've got a good-sized readership."

"Maybe you could feature THC." She winks. "And E.C."

My head spins at all the angles we could cover this from. Aro's always encouraging us to seek out new and interesting stories and people. "Hmmm."

Em calls her name from the bathroom and she stands, tapping my phone screen. "Text me if you want me to set it up."

* * *

That Monday morning, it takes Aro all of 3.2 seconds to agree to the story, followed by thirty minutes of him reminiscing about all of his high times back in the day when he and his buddies went to Woodstock '99 and raged against the machine.

Carlisle is just as eager to do the story, inviting me to meet him as soon as possible the following day. The frosted doors seem larger up close, more imposing. Almost as imposing as the Secret Service-looking security guard who's working the door. No smile, just a curt nod before his eyes move back to the room in front of him.

The dispensary is not what I expected. There're no psychedelic posters lining the walls, no incense burning, no Grateful Dead blasting from a stereo. It's all sterile white counters, muted gray walls and stainless shelving with buds in apothecary jars evenly spaced on each.

Rose is behind the counter, speaking quietly with an elderly man who's shakily counting out his cash. She looks up and gives me a smile and a small wave, almost like I didn't see her do the naked rush from Emmett's room to the bathroom this morning and like I didn't hear her screaming his name all night.

"Can I help you?" The security guard asks, eying me strangely as I stand in front of the doors taking it all in.

"I'm here to see Mr. Cullen. I'm Bella Swan from _Awarify_."

He jerks his chin towards the stainless doors where I see Carlisle pushing through, looking just as he did the other night in his dark gray dress pants and a tailored black shirt topped off with some shiny cufflinks. "Miss Swan," he greets smoothly, offering his hand. "Carlisle Cullen, it's a pleasure."

"Nice to meet you," I say, giving him a firm shake and getting a good whiff of his clean-smelling cologne.

"Welcome to THC."

"Thanks so much. I appreciate you doing the interview."

"Happy to." He grins widely, showing all of his teeth. "Care for a tour?"

"That'd be great."

"This is the storefront. We have the pharmacy over there," he points to where Rose and the other lab coat clad employees are helping customers, "and the budtenders over there."

"Budtenders?"

"Those buying recreational marijuana tend to prefer to be served by the more relaxed but still knowledgeable budtenders, while those seeking medicinal relief tend to want a more clinical experience."

I make note of the slight differences between the two, Rose in her lab coat with her hair swept tightly into a bun, while the budtenders are dressed a bit more lax with their dress shirt collars open and untucked, sleeves rolled up just so.

"Follow me," he says, pushing through the stainless doors to a large open store room. "We sell over 40 strain varieties of marijuana here. Indica, sativa, hybrids, edibles, you name it, we've either got it or can get it." He pushes through another set of doors. "Back here is our rolling room."

We enter a room lined with long tables, each of which is occupied with people rolling joints. My eyes widen. "You have an entire area dedicated to rolling?"

He nods, stopping to point at each table. "Blue team rolls spliffs, red team rolls blunts, green team rolls joints." He picks one up and inspects it. "You see, much of our elderly clientele is untrained in the art of a good roll, plus their conditions tend to make it impossible to." Placing the joint back on the table, he pats the ombré-haired girl with the nose ring on the back. "Pre-rolled joints are a huge seller for us, not only for those seeking medicinal relief, but those rookie tokers who are simply not coordinated enough to roll their own."

The next sixty minutes are spent in his office discussing everything from state versus federal legislation to the advantages of marijuana legalization on the economy. I notice he skims over his need for heightened security, noting the risk only when discussing that it's a cash only business. Somehow, our conversation shifts from profit margins to the legitimate physical and therapeutic benefits of cannabis. I'm pleasantly surprised not only by the fact that he's genuinely knowledgeable about the product, spouting off both statistics and treatable medical conditions, but more so by the enthusiasm with which he speaks. Perhaps the green lining his pocket isn't the only driving force or incentive on this endeavor.

"So," I start, staring at the question I'm not sure how to ask politely. "Prior to this you were a hedge fund manager?" The corner of his lip turns up and he nods. "Why the shift to this industry?"

Leaning back in his seat, he presses his palms together. "I suppose you're curious about my motivation, yes?"

"It seems to me you're pretty passionate about this venture. Something tells me it has to be about more than dollars and cents."

"You're quite perceptive, Miss Swan."

"Bella."

"Bella." His lips form a tight line and he grabs a pen off his desk, rolling it between his fingers. "Have you ever …" he trails off before clearing his throat. "Ever seen an illness ravage the body of someone you love?" I shake my head, but he doesn't look at me. "Ever sat helpless, unable to ease their suffering?"

"No," I say barely above a whisper.

He swallows as his gaze moves to a picture on his hutch of a much younger version of himself holding a beautiful blonde woman close. "I have."

"I'm so sorry."

Nodding, he pushes back from his desk and stands, plastering on a grin. "Come on. Let me show you the rest of the facility."

Pulling open the cage door to the freight elevator, he motions for me to get on. "Our second and third floors are dedicated mainly to our growing and curing. I admit I'm not as knowledgeable about _how_ the product is produced. This is more my brother's area of expertise."

"Edward?"

He smirks. "Most people call him E.C."

"Oh, well he introduced himself as Edward the other night at the party."

"Did he now?" He chuckles to himself as the elevator comes to a stop and he opens the cage door. "Speak of the devil."

Edward stands there waiting, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed looking just as effortlessly handsome as he did the other night, even in his long sleeve tee and jeans. I give him an awkward wave and in return, he greets me with a lopsided smile and tip of his head. "Bella."

* * *

 **A/N: *smiles huge* Thanks for the great response to the story, pals! I'm thrilled to see a bunch of familiar readers back for another fic and so excited to meet some new readers as well!**

 **Tonight we're going to let it WIP with a couple writers who are popping their fic writing cherries. I had the very best welcome to this fandom as a first time writer, and I'd love it if you'd help me spread the love because today's newbies may be tomorrow's faves. Without further ado - here are our Like A Virgin fic recs:**

 **Unfinished by remedy25 - We were friends until two years ago, when he left. I moved on until he moved back. Now, we just might be able to be friends again-or I'm just fooling myself. Oh, and also, that guy I just assaulted in the coffee shop? Apparently he's my new boss...**

 **Angry All the Time by MeteorOnAMoonlessNight - Bella had it all, until she lost it. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, is it reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end?**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd tweeted or lurked this fic! I'll see you next week!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!**

* * *

"I'm guessing introductions aren't necessary?" Carlisle asks his brother, amusement apparent on his face.

"We're good," Edward says with his eyes still fixed on me.

"Well I'll just leave you two to it then." He dips his head in my direction and takes my hand. "Bella, it was a pleasure. I appreciate you coming out and if you have any questions, feel free to give me a call."

"I will. Thanks so much."

Carlisle barely has the cage door closed before Edward starts in, pushing off the counter and motioning for me to follow him. "I thought you said this wasn't your thing."

I shrug. "I like to keep an open mind."

"Good." He chuckles and barges through a set of stainless doors, leading us to a long room with several dressing rooms on one side and lockers on the other. "First things first. Before we enter the growing area, you'll need to change into this." He tosses me a plastic bag and directs me to a changing room. "We'll need everything off but the undergarments."

"O-kay." I slip into the dressing room and tear open the bag to find a bright yellow hazmat suit and a pair of plastic knock-off Crocs. "And why am I dressing like Walter White from _Breaking Bad_?"

I hear the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered and pants hitting the ground before he speaks. "Company policy."

"You mean theft prevention."

He laughs. "Security's obviously a concern with the amount of plants we have back there."

"I suppose." I pull my shirt over my head. "You'd be foolish not to protect your product."

"Exactly. But honestly, it's not the employees I'm concerned about. It's pests."

"Pests?"

"Yeah, bugs come in on people's clothes and shoes. If they got to my plants, we'd lose a lot of money."

"I would've never considered that."

"Lots of growers don't."

"Is that your job title? A _grower_." The word comes out in a bit of a giggle because I'm a perv and clearly am incapable of being professional.

He snorts. "I'm a _Master Grower_."

"For real? _That's_ your official title?"

"Officially," he says, opening the dressing room door and stepping out just as I do, looking strangely appealing in his Minion uniform.

"Not for nothing, but that'd be the best business card ever."

Flashing me a smile, he shoves our stuff into a locker before motioning for me to follow him again. He leads me to another door, though this one has a keypad. "So this is our growing and production facility. It's a little over 10,000 square feet," he types a code into the keypad and holds the door open for me, "and houses around 3,500 plants."

We step out onto a grated platform overlooking the facility. "Whoa." The word slips from my lips as I take in the enormity of the space. A greenhouse lines the entire left side of the room, looking like a long glass corridor. Plants as far as the eye can see.

He chuckles quietly before directing me to follow him down the stairs. "On the left is the growing area, but we're going to head over to our production area first."

The right side of the room is mostly open, apart from one large glass enclosed area and several glass partitions separating the work zones. I notice each section is lined with tables and each table has several yellow-suited employees working diligently while being monitored. Red-suited employees pace the area, looking over the shoulders of the Minion lookalikes.

"Who are the red suits?"

He smirks. "Production supervisors."

"AKA Security."

"Carlisle's pretty serious about security." Jerking his chin up to the overhang, I notice a few small cameras monitoring the area.

"Big brother's always watching, huh?" I resist the urge to do my Roz from _Monsters, Inc_ impression. "So what do they do in production?"

"This is where we process the plants for distribution." We stop in front of the large glass enclosure housing a few rooms with rows and rows of plants hanging upside down. "These are our drying rooms."

The smell is overwhelming and he hasn't even opened the doors to the individual rooms. Dank and skunky, I slip my finger beneath my nose.

"You'll notice all the rods are color-coded. We try to keep the plants separated. Sativas here," he points to the first room, then to the next. "Indicas in the middle. Hybrids at the end. Each color indicates a different strain variety."

My brows knit. "Strain variety?"

"Yeah, more like the street name. Blue Dream, Purple Haze, Pineapple Express—"

"E.C. Kush," I interrupt.

"Exactly." The corners of his mouth turn up. "So, how do you want this to go?" My blank stare makes him laugh. "Do you want just an overview of the facility, or do you want to have a more hands-on experience?"

 _Hands-on, hands down_. "Whatever you think is best."

For the next thirty minutes, he gives me a lesson in trimming cannabis. We sit closely, shoulders and legs touching as he shows me how to properly hold the stalk as I prune. Hand-over-hand, he adjusts my fingers as I go. I can feel his eyes on me while I work, his voice low and soft in my ear patiently reminding me to angle my scissors every other minute. By the time I'm finished, the table is a mess of resin crystals, stems, leaves, and only about three nuggets.

"Well." He clucks his tongue, picking up one of the nugs. "You're trimming skills are …"

"Not awesome?"

"Not even close to awesome."

"Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm pretty awful at cutting hair too. One time, my roommate asked me to give him a trim." I shake my head. "It was bad. He called me Frenchy for like a month."

Tossing the nugs into a nearby glass jar, he stands and offers his hand to help me up. "Come on. Let's head over to the greenhouse, beauty school dropout."

After a quick walk through the rest of the production area and a general overview on curing cannabis, he ushers me into the greenhouse, which like the drying room, is sectioned off with glass walls. "This is where we house the sativas."

I wander through the rows of tall plants, brushing my fingers over the thin leaves and listening as he rattles off all the effects of sativas. The entire time he speaks, he's checking over the plants, dipping his fingers in the soil and jotting notes on a clipboard.

"So, how did you get into this?"

"Into growing?"

"Yeah."

"When I was about sixteen, my mom and I moved from the city out to the country. We rented a house from a farmer down the road. Carlisle was already away at school so I helped out with the bills, working the farmer's land to pay down our rent."

Images of him shirtless and sweaty, bailing hay come fast and strong. "So ... agriculture."

He gives me a coy grin. "Soy and corn weren't the only crops they were harvesting."

"I see."

"I learned a lot though. About soil, watering, fertilizing …" he trails off, tossing the clipboard on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "I kinda figured I could put the experience to good use, so when I went to college I majored in Ag. Got paired up with a fast talking marketing major as a roommate who saw the value in my skill-set."

"And the opportunity."

"Exactly. Jake had the head for business and I had the product."

"So did you deal?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. I tried, but I'm not savvy in that way. Jake took all the risk and sold. As the supplier, I got my cut on the front end. "

"But now you're legal."

"Now I'm legal."

"And Jake?"

"Jake got himself a girl who insisted he get a _real_ job."

"This seems real to me."

"Jake liked the hustle. Anticipating the supply and demand and whatnot," he explains as questionable sounds emanate from the next room. Gumming his lips, he tries to hold back a laugh at the look on my face.

"What _is_ that?"

"That's Esme. She uh," he scratches his eyebrow, "she thinks that the indica plants like her singing."

"That's singing?"

"Allegedly."

Esme is nothing like I expected. She's not the champagne sipping Stepford wife I assumed someone like Carlisle would be with. She's quirky and soft and _extremely_ tone-deaf. Her introduction comes complete with a gentle hug, an arm-in-arm guided tour of the indica plants and a rundown of all the songs she sings to them.

"Indicas are my favorite, even though they make me eat everything in sight, but really, are Pringles ever a bad idea?"

"Never."

"But the overall effect is like …" Her shoulders rise to her ears as she grasps for the words. "Like the best kind of relaxation. An all over body high."

"And sativas are more of a head high?" I run my fingertips over the thick, bushy indica leaves. "Like a mind enhancer?"

"You've got it!" She bumps her hip to mine. "Has E.C. shown you the hybrids yet?"

"No." I sneak a glance at him. "Not yet."

"Well, you two go ahead. I've got some grow lights out that I need to take care of." She rubs her hands up and down the tops of my arms. "So lovely to meet you."

"You too, and thanks for the tour."

"Anytime, darling." She winks at Edward. "She's all yours."

With a wave, she disappears around the corner, belting out a less than stellar version of some song I've never heard. I lean in and whisper, "What's she singing?"

"I'm not 100 percent sure, "Edge of Seventeen" maybe."

"Never heard it." His lips twitch, like he's holding back a laugh. "What?"

"Stevie Nicks?"

"Who's he?" I ask and immediately regret it solely based on his wide-eyed expression of disbelief and utter amusement.

"She." His eyes narrow slightly. "You've really never heard of her?"

"Obviously not if I thought she was a dude."

"How old are you?"

 _Old enough_. "Twenty-four."

"Jesus," he murmurs to himself, turning to head over to the hybrids. "You're like a zygote."

"I'm not _that_ young," I counter.

"Way younger than me at the ripe old age of thirty-three."

"You act like you're the Crypt Keeper. I don't think you qualify for the Denny's Senior Slam yet, Gen X."

"True." He glances back at me, an easy smile spreading over his face. "Still up for getting your hands dirty?"

"Sure," I say, following him through two more rooms. "This place is like a maze. Why are the sections getting smaller and smaller?"

"Makes it easier for me to control the factors if the grow rooms are smaller. Temperature, humidity, how much light the plants are getting. It's a bit expensive on the front end to segment them off, but makes sense in the long run."

"That and pest control." I motion to our sexy, sterile suits.

"Exactly." He winks. "So hybrids … they're like super strains. You take a potent sativa; combine it with a strong indica and voilà . You've got the best of both worlds."

"So you get the head and body high equally?"

"Not exactly, it all depends on the breeding." He goes on to explain that the strains can either be indica or sativa dominant based on how the breeder manipulates the plants. Words like cannabinoid and trichomes slip from his lips, and I admit I'm far too focused on watching his mouth move to ask him what they mean. I just nod my head, wrinkle my eyebrows and make a note to Google it later. "And that's why they're so much more potent. They each take the strongest effects from their parentage."

"I see. What hybrid strains do you grow here?"

"White widow over here and that's Girl Scout Cookie over there." He points to another area. "Back there we have Trainwreck and some Cannatonic." We round the corner and stop in front of a large section of purple flowering plants. "And this … is E.C. Kush."

"Tell me about it." My words come out in a whisper as I step closer to the plant. "What does it do?"

Clearing his throat, he moves to stand beside me. "Medicinally speaking, it delivers swift pain relief without the sedative effects. No couch-lock. Just a nice overall relaxation. Helps with anxiety too."

"And recreationally?"

"It's a nice balance of uplifting buzz and relaxing high."

"Gets you loose as a goose, huh?"

He tilts his head back and forth. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Isn't that what a good strain is supposed to do?"

"It all depends on what you're looking for. A good strain can leave you feeling euphoric. Lower your inhibitions. Heighten your senses." My fingertips trace the bright purple hairs of the leaf when I feel his lips at my ear. "But I can get you higher."

"How high?" The words come rushing out, sounding more breathy than I'd like. "I mean … comparatively to other strains and stuff."

"Well, comparatively speaking, it has a higher THC level than some of the more potent strains."

"Meaning?" I shake my head. "Wait, back-up, what's THC?"

"THC is the chemical that's responsible for the therapeutic and mind-altering effects in cannabis. Pretty much any dispensary you go to is going to tell you their best strains have _the_ maximum THC level, promising patients and your run of the mill toker the highest high. At best, their product's THC levels are typically somewhere between 23 – 25 percent."

"And E.C. Kush?"

His arms cross over his chest and he looks more like Carlisle than ever with a cocky grin in place. "Thirty-one percent."

"That's … I mean … how?"

"That's proprietary." Smirking, he hands me a pair of gloves. "But breeding and cultivation process has a lot to do with it."

I wave the gloves at him. "What are we doing with these?"

"We're going to transplant a few of the hybrids to get them ready for their flowering cycle."

"Cool." I bob my head. "But again, in the interest of full disclosure, I'd like it noted that no plant has ever survived in my care."

"Duly noted," he calls from over his shoulder as he leads us over to a dirty counter top.

Normally whenever anyone talks at length about anything science related, after about thirty seconds they sound like the teacher on Charlie Brown to me. I admit most of the shit about stable root systems and proper soil saturation goes right over my head. But what I don't miss is the way his eyes flicker to mine when our dirt covered fingers brush repeatedly in the soil or the easy smiles that come from the playful nudges and relentless teasing.

"Congratulations," he says when we're done. I quirk a brow at him earning me another smug grin. "You had a successful interaction with a plant without a fatality."

"Only time will tell." I walk back over to the E.C. Kush area. "When will my plant get the purple flowers on it?"

"Within the next thirty to forty days or so."

"So pretty," I murmur, softly touching the fine leaf hairs, feeling his eyes on me. "Too pretty to smoke it."

"One hit will make you change your mind."

Something about the way he says that makes my insides flip. "Probably would."

After changing back into our clothes, he walks me to my car where we exchange too many thank yous and a too long handshake. I can't even call it a handshake, my hand just rests there in his grasp while we do this awkward 'it was a pleasure' thing that feels far too flirtatious to sound so formal.

* * *

The next morning when I arrive at my office, there's a huge, ostentatious bouquet of flowers smack dab in the middle of my desk accompanied by a thank you note from Carlisle that's equal parts schmooze and Emily Post propriety, yet somehow sincere. There's no trace of Edward in the note and it bums me out way more than it should.

Three hours later, one of the bearded hipster interns raps on my cubicle wall and stares at me over his thick, probably non-prescription glasses looking utterly inconvenienced.

"Hey Quil."

He frowns. "It's _Q_."

"That's right. Sorry about that, I keep forgetting you asked us to call you that last week." _After being here for over a year, cut me some slack, jackass_. I hear Heidi snickering in the cube beside mine and it's near impossible for me to keep a straight face. "What can I help you with, _Q_?"

Sighing deeply, he reaches into his mail cart and pulls out a box with the words _fragile-live plant inside_ stamped on the side. "Delivery for you."

"Thanks _Q_ ," I say all sugary sweet to which he responds with a grunt and a grimace before wheeling his cart away.

Pulling the tiny envelope from the top of the package, I lean back in my seat and scrutinize how my name is written on the envelope. The scrawl looks masculine and I wonder if it's from him.

 _But I dare not hope_.

So I open the box first and immediately want to squeal when I see what's inside. Two small purple flowers sprouting out of a short, round potted cactus.

It's _so_ him. Thoughtful. Charming. Funny.

Grabbing the note, I tear the envelope off like a savage and I nearly melt when I see it's all handwritten.

 _Bella-_

 _Figured this was the only plant that can survive in your care.  
_ _Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy our time together.  
_ _Thanks for your interest in THC._

 _Edward_

The note is _so_ him too. Amusing. Polite. Sincere.

And utterly ambiguous.

* * *

 **A/N: True facts - that's how we'd roll if Carrie ZM and I ran a dispensary. #hardcore #tightsecurity #thatshitaintfree**

 **Amirite?**

 ***Carrie ZM side-eyes Lay***

 **Fine, let's let it WIP!**

 **Milk Teeth by Sparrownotes24 - This fic ... this Edward ... Sparrow is killing it with this one, pals! This is a drop everything, hide from my kids to read fic.**

 **Evergreen Loop by Vican - You guys know how much I love high school fics - this one is fab and funny and so, so sweet.**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd tweeted or lurked this fic! I'll see you next week!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

Stepping down from his ginormous truck, Emmett closes his eyes and inhales deeply though his nose. "It's gonna be a good day, Swan." He claps once. "A good day to get dirty."

"If you say so." I tug on the bright yellow tee of my uniform. "You swear there's a beer tent at the end of this mud run?"

"Scout's honor."

"You weren't a scout." He waves me off. "And why are you wearing a soldier's helmet?"

"Because I'm about to move a team across land. Trenches, swamps, slip-n-slides. I'm the General, Swan. El Cap-i-tan. The Mudder Ducking boss." I kinda have to give him props on our team name, the Mudder Duckers. "There's my Rosie!"

"BABY!" Rose squeals, hopping into Em's arms and kissing his stupid face. "We were wondering when you guys would get here." She gives me a sheepish grin after yet another naked run-in by the bathroom this morning. "Hey Bella."

"Heyyyy."

The rest of Em's gym buddies are there as well, along with Rose's roommate, Lauren, and her boyfriend, Tyler. They look like the cast of Baywatch, all fit and flexing for their pre-mud run selfies.

"Group pic!" Rose shouts, gathering everyone together. "Oh hey, E.C! You made it. Get in the picture."

"Sure." My head snaps up at the sound of his voice, only to see the hottest Mudder Ducker here moving to stand beside me for the team pic. Mouthing a quick 'hi' he leans in to pose for the photo. Once the camera clicks, he turns to chat with Rose again. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was insane."

"No worries." Rose introduces Edward to the rest of the team before tugging on one of my pigtail braids, winking slyly. "And of course you remember our Bella."

"I do." He chuckles a bit and rubs his jaw. "How've you been?"

"Great." I nod, trying to ignore Emmett thrusting his hips a few feet behind him. This is my first time seeing him since my visit to the dispensary; although we've had _some_ contact through a handful of emails and some super awkward voicemails. Playful, but mostly professional. "You?"

"Can't complain. How's my cactus?"

"Alive and well."

"Good work."

"Yeah well, what can I say? I learned from the best."

He smirks.

"Plus it loves my singing, so …"

"Mudder Duckers," Em calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Huddle up!"

Unrolling a map of the obstacle course, he delivers a passionate motivational speech; chock full of inspirational quotes and thinly-veiled threats for anyone who performs poorly. I don't miss that he side-eyes me when he mentions performance.

"All right, hands in, everyone," Em yells and I reach in only too happy to have Edward's hand covering mine. "Word to your mudder on three. One, two, three!"

"You ready for this?" Edward asks me as we near the starting line, stretching his arm across his body.

I make a half-assed attempt at stretching my legs, lunges or whatever Emmett calls them. "Not really, but it's for a good cause."

"And there's a beer tent at the end," Emmett interrupts, flashing a big dimpled smile.

Edward laughs and I just shrug. "So yeah, there's that too."

"Bella's not what you'd call," he makes air quotes, "agile or remotely," more air quotes, "physically fit."

"But Bella can still," now I'm making air quotes, "kick your ass."

The starting gun fires and I find myself sprinting _Hunger Games_ style to the first obstacle, a 20 yard trench filled with three feet of water. One by one, I watch our team jump in, trudging through the water effortlessly. The second my feet hit the mud, I can feel myself sinking. By the time I reach the end, my thighs are burning and my calves are screaming for mercy.

"Gimme your hand!" Edward yells from just above the trench. He pulls me out of the water but doesn't let go once we're running again. "Rope swing. You ready?"

"Totally ready." Sure it's a small fib, but it comes out sounding confidently bad-ass and _that's_ what matters. Unless of course, I take a nose-dive into the mud pit below which would be tragically embarrassing. Grabbing the rope, I take a deep breath. The distance is doable so I mutter a quick 'fuck it', run, and swing.

"You did it!" I hear him yell from behind me as I find my footing. He swings across smoothly, landing with a graceful thud before reaching for my hand again. "Let's go."

Twenty yards of high knees through tires, three brutal monkey bar exercises, and a crippling series of muddy incline mountain climbers later, I'm breathing all heavy like I just put the fitted sheet on my bed and cursing Emmett's name.

"Is there a crash cart at the end of this course?" I wheeze as Edward practically drags me to the next obstacle. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need it."

"No," he huffs, shaking his head, "but there _is_ a beer tent."

"I'm probably going to need that, too."

"You and me both. Last one." He jerks his head to the giant mud mountain-looking thing in front of us.

"We climb the hill, then slip-n-slide down the other side."

"Pass."

Laughing, he throws an arm around my shoulder. "Come on now. You've _got_ this." I snort because the only thing I've _got_ is mud in my nether-regions. But then I look up at him and he's unabashedly staring back at me amused, and I can feel his arm tightening around me, pulling me closer. His voice drops, sweet and low in my ear. " _We've_ got this."

Something about the word 'we' does funny things to me and I relent. "Fine. Let's do it!"

"That's my girl!" He winks. "Okay, so …" I can't be sure, but I think he's giving me instructions on how to climb this mud heap, but I'm still caught up in him using the words 'my' and 'girl' together in a sentence and about me, nonetheless. Part of me is actually grateful for the caked-on mud splotches on my cheeks because they're camouflaging a thoroughly heated blush. "And you should be good to go," he finishes, looking at me expectantly.

"Sounds easy enough," I lie, too embarrassed to tell him I was stuck on stupid and didn't hear a word he said.

We step up to the base of the hill. "All right, here we go. Remember, dig in and make sure your foot's planted so you have enough traction to move."

"Got it." I grab the heavy mud-covered rope and give it a quick tug while he does the same a few feet away from me. "Plant foot, traction to move."

The first twenty or so feet aren't bad. I've got his little mantra going in my head. _Dig in. Plant. Pull and step._

It works great.

 _Until it doesn't._

As the incline gets steeper, it gets harder to dig in. I can't seem to get any traction and the only thing keeping me upright is my grip on the mud-slicked rope. I sneak a glance at Edward who seems to having a little trouble getting his footing as well. He's gorgeous though, flexing and stretching his arms and legs, with this cute little furrow on his brow. If my arms and legs weren't burning and tears weren't welling up in my eyes, I'm sure I'd sigh dreamily.

His gaze shifts to mine, a pained smile on his face. "How're you holding up over there?"

"Piece of cake," I grit out through clenched teeth.

He reaches the summit several minutes later and waits there for me, kneeling at the top of my rope, encouraging me with kind words and beer selection possibilities. The last thing I see is his sweet, smiling face cheering me on before my feet slip out from beneath me.

And I face-plant.

Hard.

Like a full throttle belly flop.

As if hitting the ground with my forehead isn't horrific enough, my body slides down the hill and all I can hear around me is Edward's quiet 'oh shit' and Emmett at the finish line asking if anyone got that on video. _I hate him_.

"You okay?" I hear Edward yell when I grab the rope to stop myself from slithering down further.

"Totally fine," I lie again, wiping handfuls of mud off my face and throwing it to the ground with a plop. "Just lost my footing."

With fierce determination and a series of loud and utterly unladylike grunts, I trudge to the top where he once again pulls me up to stand beside him. "Thanks," I whisper, barely able to catch my breath. "That kinda sucked."

"Yeah, that uh," he winces when I pull a clump of mud from my hair and chuck it down the hill, "didn't go as planned, huh?"

"Definitely not."

"If it's any consolation, you look pretty bad ass right now."

"You're a terrible liar."

He throws his arm back around my shoulders again, leading me over to the slip-n-slide. "I'm serious. You look like—"

"Like the kid who jumped into the outhouse toilet on _Slumdog Millionaire_?" He turns away but I can feel his body shaking with laughter. "I do, don't I?"

"Not at all." I give him a look and he concedes. "Maybe a little."

"Awesome."

"So together?" he asks, tipping his head towards the slip-n-slide and holding his hand out for me to take.

I smile, wishing he was talking about more than just a quick glide down a plastic tarp. "Head or feet first?

"However you want to do this."

"Together." My fingers slide between his. "Feet first."

A slip, a slide, a few team pictures and a makeshift shower later, we're sitting in the beer tent, throwing back a well deserved Solo cup of shitty beer. Emmett's laughing so hard he's nearly crying, playing my fall over and over on his buddy's phone and begging me to let him put it on YouTube.

I cover my face. "It's so mortifying."

"I know, I love it!" Em cackles, playing it again in slow-motion.

"You know I can destroy you, right?"

"You can try."

I lean in and lower my voice. "Two words. Male cheerleader."

He gasps. "You wouldn't."

"Delete the video and I won't have to."

"Never," he whispers.

"Hey Rose!"

"Ssshh!" He covers my mouth with his hand. "Fine. It'll never see the light of day."

Sulking, Em stalks off to mourn the loss of his possible viral YouTube hit, leaving Edward and I alone at last. He's making a face at his beer.

"Hardly worth it, huh?" I ask, motioning towards his drink.

"I wouldn't say that. The beer's pretty awful, but this was fun."

"It was, minus the whole face-plant thing."

"Yeah other than that." He laughs a bit and swirls his cup in his hands. "So, I've been meaning to thank you again in person. The article was fantastic."

"Oh good! I'm glad you liked it."

"Carlisle did too. It's been great for business."

I sip my beer. "How so?"

"We've had a few investor inquiries and weed reviewers wanting to try the strain, which is huge with the cup coming up."

"Which Cannabis Cup are you entering?"

The corner of his mouth tips up. "Amsterdam."

"That's the big one, right?" He nods and takes a quick drink. "Just gonna jump right in with the big boys, huh?"

"We're pretty confident." For a split second he looks like a smug, muddy version of Carlisle before he ducks his head down and focuses on his beer. "I mean we've put years into this strain. I think we've got a real shot."

"We do too."

"We?"

"We meaning my boss, Aro and me. He's interested in extending your story. Maybe even following your whole Cannabis Cup experience or something."

"Really?"

"Yep. The article got lots of hits, and he wants to capitalize by jumping on the green bandwagon."

"Carlisle's going to love that."

"I thought he might."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you jumping on the green bandwagon?"

"I don't know about all that," I say with a laugh, tapping my fingers on my cup, "but I'm pretty impressed by your business."

"Well thanks. I'm really impressed with your work as well."

"You read my stuff?"

He nods. "I did and I like it a lot. Especially the _In Ink_ series you did with the late night tattoo parlor stories."

My cheeks heat. "Thanks."

"So is that your thing? Ink?"

"Nope. I think it's cool but needles not so much."

"So what _is_ your thing?"

"I don't know … Netflix, Kindle One-Click …"

He laughs because he thinks I'm joking. "What else?"

"Wearing flip-flops year round. Beaches. And travel. I loved to travel."

"Loved?"

"It's been a bit. My mom, sister and I used to take trips over the summers we stayed with her when we were younger. We loved anywhere tropical, but my favorite was when we did Europe."

"Where in Europe?"

"London, Barcelona, Paris, and Rome."

"Never made it to Amsterdam?"

I shake my head. "I didn't. I think I was maybe 15 when we went to Europe. Amsterdam would've been too much for me to handle."

"Probably."

"You've been?"

"A few times."

"Business or pleasure?"

"For business."

"That's a shame. I'll bet Amsterdam is a blast."

"I didn't say I didn't have fun."

He takes a drink and my eyes get big. "Red light district fun?" Something sounding like both laughter and a cough come out of his mouth and beer spurts back into his cup. "Oh God! Are you all right?"

His mouth is covered, but he's nodding frantically between coughs. "I'm fine," he chokes out, rubbing his chest, "I'm okay."

"Jesus! I'm sorry. It was the first thing that popped in my head when I think of Amsterdam and fun."

"Peep shows and prostitutes?"

"Well not specifically, I was thinking more along the lines of almost 'anything goes' aspect of it all. It's like Disneyland for dudes."

"That's debatable, but when I said fun, I was talking about visiting different coffeeshops, taking hits from two-story bongs and such."

"I thought you were a joint kinda guy."

"I am, but … when in Rome, you know?"

"So, what I'm hearing is you were too high to make it over to the Red Light District."

"I suppose it's plausible. I was pretty high. But I doubt it. Last time Carlisle and I were there, we were putting together the business model for THC."

"Carlisle was there?"

"Yep."

"Weird."

He laughs. "You think?"

"Carlisle doesn't strike me as the type to take hits from a two-story bong."

"Do I?"

"Not really, but that's solely based on your admission that you prefer joints."

"I'm curious though."

"About?"

"The type of person you think _would_ take a hit from a two-story bong."

"I don't know. I think stoners have evolved. Most of the ones I know have degrees, jobs, 401(k) plans, and renter's insurance. Any one of them would take the hit, but if I'm honest, the first person who comes to mind is this guy I was friends with in college named Paul."

"What was he like?"

"Crazy smart, super chill, a bit of a gamer."

"And …"

"He was a straight up stoner. Existed solely on a diet of Mountain Dew and gas station pizza. Smelled like Funyuns and armpits most of the time and had a certain fondness for making bongs out of everyday items. Cool dude, though. He gave me some fun story ideas."

"Sounds like me in college minus the bongs and instead of Funyuns, I smelled like Fritos."

"Oh God."

"I'm just kidding."

"Good."

"I was a creeper with a beeper."

"Stop."

"Drove a beater car with tinted windows. Cypress Hill CD in my Discman plugged into the radio."

"What's a Discman?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I am, but now _I'm_ curious."

"About?"

"What you did after college those years before your profession became relatively accepted and more importantly, legal."

"This and that."

"This and that meaning you worked at _Sonic_ or this and that meaning you still supplied Jake."

"Off the record?"

"Of course, this is strictly a conversation between _friends_." His brow lifts slightly and for a second I wonder if it's due to my choice of words. "Or colleagues … Business associates or whatever."

His lip curves up into a half-smile. "I like _friends_."

It's near impossible to keep my blush at bay. "Well now that that's settled …"

"I took jobs at greenhouses and nurseries to keep up appearances as a tax-paying citizen while still supplying Jake. Once my brother got involved, I did the day trading thing so I'd have more time to cultivate the strain."

"Carlisle's idea?"

"Of course."

"I think it's so cool how you two can work together. I can't even go to Costco with my sister without wanting to hit her in the back of the head with a bulk bag of whole wheat flour." His eyebrows rise slightly so I try to amend my previous statement. "I mean, I love her and we're best friends, but we'd never be able to do the work thing together without wanting to—"

"Physically assault each other?"

"Essentially."

"Carlisle and I've had a few knockdown, drag out fights. We try to give each other a pretty wide berth."

"Really?"

Chuckling, he glances down at his beer. "I could tell you stories."

When he doesn't elaborate, I shake my head. "Such a tease." His eyes flash to mine. "You can't just throw that out there like that."

"A tease?" His words come out slow and low. "I'd never tease you." _Liar._ "We're going to need more beer for this, though."

Two more beers, several laughs and a few shared stories of epic sibling beat downs later, the keg goes dry and the tent is being disassembled. Some of the team members huddle around Emmett's truck, patting each other on the back and saying their goodbyes. Edward and I linger when they leave, trying our best not to look at Em and Rose sucking each other's faces off against his truck's cab door. Unfortunately the lip smacking and breathy moans are a little hard to ignore.

"They're pretty into each other, huh?"

"Pssh. That's nothing; you should share a wall with them."

"I'll take your word for it," he jokes, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "So I was wondering." He steps closer, lowering his voice, "Are you free this Wednesday?"

"I am."

"Do you want to go to dinner with me?" His words stumble out quickly and it's too cute how he almost seems nervous to ask me out. "It's this thing for work, an investor dinner or whatever, and I thought maybe you'd want to attend. I mean, go with me if you wanted to …" He blows out a breath. "Learn more about the business or something."

"Sure." The word comes out sounding like a bit of a question. _Did I just get asked on a date or to attend a business function?_

"Really?" He seems genuinely surprised which makes me think date. "It might be boring with all the financials and shop talk." _Business function_. "But it'll be more fun with you there." _Date._

"Sounds great."

"Cool. It's a date." _Woohoo! It is a date! "_ I'll email you this week." _For a business function._

"I look forward to it."

He smiles. "Me too."

* * *

 **A/N: Just a quick heads-up, I'm going to be out of town next week so the next chapter will post that following Thursday. Sorry to make you wait, pals. *winces***

 **But while we're talking about waiting, Carrie ZM and I have been thinking about fics that are worth the wait. The ones that haven't been updated in ages, but you will never give up hope that one day you'll get a surprise in your inbox. *Carrie ZM gets all starry-eyed* At last count, we named off at least 30 fics off the top of our head that we'd give pretty much anything to see an update on, but here are just a few that are worth _la douleur exquise - the exquisite pain_ of waiting and hoping for more.**

 **There Fell A Stillness by HappyInLove**  
 **Bound for Glory by wtvoc (collab with Jandco) *Lay bites knuckle thinking of that last chapter***  
 **Prey for the Wicked by Aleeab4u**  
 **Cullen Enterprise by Amethyst Jackson**  
 **He's Lost Control by Fliegendamsel *Carrie ZM shivers***  
 **My Viking by SheViking**  
 **Insatiable Desires by ItzMegan73 *a single longing ghost tear slips down Lay's cheek***

 **Tell us, pals - which old school fic would you lose your mind over if it updated?**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd tweeted or lurked this fic! I'll see you in TWO weeks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!**

* * *

"Wake up!" Rose pushes on Emmett's forehead before squishing his cheeks up and down. "Get up," she tries again and blows a raspberry on his face.

I grab his hand and drop it right on his nuts. Other than a small wince and a muttered 'you're the devil', he rolls his boxer-briefed-ass over on the couch. "Lame."

"So lame," Rose agrees, clearing the shot glasses from the coffee table. "It was _his_ idea to play Flip, Sip or Strip."

"The boy will do anything to see a boob."

"True. You'd think he'd quit once he realized that neither one of us were stripping."

"I'm starving," I whine, staring at the empty popcorn bag beside me.

"Me too!" she shouts, doing that two finger thing and making the crazy eyes at me. "You know what I've been craving?"

"Please say something normal like Cocoa Puffs or Cheez Whiz and not something weird like sprouts or quinoa."

"Tacos."

"YASSSSSSS!"

"Enchiladas."

"I'm _so_ down."

"Burritos." The word comes out in a reverent whisper.

"Three blocks away there's a _LaBamba_. Burritos as big as your head girl, let's go."

"It's two in the morning." She twists her lips to the side and sways a bit. "Do they have guac?"

"They have the best guac ever." That's a lie. Nobody has better guacamole than Uncle Julio's Hacienda.

"This is a bad idea."

"Totally bad," I agree, grabbing her arm and my purse, "but the more you say it, the more I like it."

She laughs. "I know. Me too!"

* * *

Three blocks, two cat calls, and a near injury after misjudging the curb later, we're both standing at the counter squinting up at the menu.

"Can I get," Rose pauses, bracing herself against the back of the register, "an order of nachos, a beef burrito, two bean and avocado tortas, a side of guac and a bottle of water, please?" She flips her hair over her shoulder to look at me. "What are you having?"

 _I love this girl_. "Same."

"This feels gluttonous," Rose says, dropping her tray on the table and plopping down in her seat. "I feel like I should pray that I don't shit my pants on my run tomorrow."

"Eh," I shrug a shoulder, "I've got nothing going on tomorrow. I'm fine with watching Netflix and shitting my brains out. Maybe I'll drop a few L-Bs and finish the second season of _Supernatural._ "

"That does sound like a fun little Saturday. Mmm!" She sucks some sour cream off her thumb. "Before we throwdown on all this food, let's get a picture." Two poses and nine pictures later, we agree on one that requires the least amount of face-tuning for each of us. "This is our Insta-debut. We need an _epic_ hashtag."

"Like Amber Rose epic?"

"Girl _nothing_ will ever be that epic."

"Agreed."

"I've got it!" She speaks as she types. "Hashtag tacos before vatos."

"Perfect."

"So, I hope this isn't weird, but …" _Here we go._ The whole _I-hope-this-isn't-weird-but-are-you-into-my-boyfriend_ line of questioning. "I've been meaning to ask …"

"Not weird at all," I interrupt her, opting to head the awkwardness off at the pass and nip it in the bud. "Lots of his girlfriends have asked about this." Clearing my throat, I go into my well-practiced response. "Em and I are just great friends. We never hooked-up, but we did kiss once and we both agreed it was _Game of Thrones_ level incestual, but not in the let's keep doing it kind of way. Yes, I've seen him naked. It's an unfortunate consequence of living with him. Plus, I filmed his audition tape for _Survivor_. He thought being nude with cleverly placed props would impress producers, but he's obviously still waiting on a callback. Sadly, he has seen me naked once too, but that was due to an unfortunate shower slip. It was mortifying, but yeah … We're just friends, so—"

My spiel is cut short by a loud snort, followed by a questionable chortle. She's covering her mouth and shaking her head. "That is SOOOO not what I was going to ask."

"You weren't?"

"God no, who asks that? You know what, never mind," she says with a shake of her head. "I don't even want to open up his crazy ex-files, but I _do_ want a copy of that audition video."

"You got it."

"Anyway, I wanted to know how things are going with you and E.C.?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Esme said you two looked awfully friendly at the investor dinner."

I consider this over a mouthful of burrito as thoughts of that night flash through my mind. The innocent brushing of his fingers on my shoulder as his arm rested over the back of my chair. The soft smiles and quiet laughter shared over snarky remarks and easy banter. Just the nearness of him and the way he looked at me. Even the awkward goodbye.

"We're friends." I shrug. "So yeah, we're friendly."

"Friends as in _pals_?" She does Emmett's air quotes thing. "Or friends as in _pals who should be fucking_?"

"Well we're definitely not fucking, so I guess we're just pals."

She grins. "But you totally want to."

"I'm not opposed to the idea, but I'm not willing to risk a sexual harassment charge to find out where he stands on the issue."

"What do you mean? He totally made the first move by asking you on a date."

"No," I wave a nacho chip in her direction, "he invited me to a _business function_."

"Did it _feel_ like you were at a business function?"

Her question gives me cause for pause, because nothing about it felt like business and apparently I take too long to answer.

"I didn't think so." She bites into her torta, smiling smugly as she chews.

"Sometimes he's just so hard to read."

Shaking her head, she puts down her food and wipes her mouth with her napkin. "Men are easy to read, you're just over thinking it."

"Maybe you're right."

"I usually am, but in your case, I think it's pretty obvious."

"There's an attraction there for sure, I just don't want to assume it's more than that."

"Let's explore this shall we?" She sways a bit in her seat and tries to unscrew the cap on her water. "Start from the beginning. How'd he greet you?"

"Greet me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, like was it a hearty handshake, an ass out hug, a pat on the shoulder? Work with me here, woman!"

"Okay, um," I stutter, staring at the ceiling trying to remember the details. "I was running late from work so I told him I'd meet him at the restaurant." Thoughts from that night come back to me of him standing outside beneath the streetlight with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress pants. "He was waiting for me when I got there."

"Annndd?"

"And I rushed over and apologized for being late, but he was so sweet telling me it was fine and that he was glad I came."

"So, no touching?"

"Well …"

"I knew it!"

"He did this weird like half-hug kind of ushering me to the door kinda thing." My cheeks heat at the memory of his whispered words as he held the door. "Told me I looked beautiful."

Rose straight up squeals and clasps her hands together. "See," she drags the word out, "I told you."

I smirk. "Carlisle told me I looked beautiful too. Let's not get nuts."

"Whatever, keep going."

"Where was I?"

"Weird half-hug at the door."

"Oh yeah, so the restaurant was crazy busy …" I begin, recounting the story and letting my mind wander back to that night. As I speak, flashes and moments from our evening together come back to me so vividly that I can almost feel the gentle push of his hand splayed across my lower back and the nearness of his lips at my ear when he murmured his apologies for the boring night of shop talk ahead.

"These things tend to drag, especially once Carlisle gets going. You might regret agreeing to it," Edward teases, his hand moving from the small of my back to lightly grip my elbow.

My lips curve upwards when he pulls me to him to avoid a near-collision with a waitress. "There'll be no regrets."

"I hope not," he says with a laugh, "but I had Carlisle order a few bottles of wine for the table just in case."

"Only a few?" I sneak a glance at him and he eyes me oddly. "I mean, aren't all of your investors coming? I think you'd need more than a few."

"No, it's just a small group tonight. We're only meeting with those who have _connections_ in the industry."

"Connections?"

He nods and ushers me into the room where everyone is already seated and getting acquainted. Carlisle and Esme both stand once they spot us.

"There she is!" Carlisle booms as Esme rushes over and pulls me into a hug.

"I'm so happy you made it!" she whispers with her cheek pressed against mine.

"Everyone, this is Bella," Edward begins, motioning to the first couple at the table, Jenks and his date.

Jenks reaches over and shakes my hand as we exchange pleasantries. There's none of that smooth hand smooching he did last time we met. I suppose it's because he's under the watchful eye of his date who he introduces as his _associate_ , Rachel. She gives me a tight-lipped grin and a polite nod.

Jake and his fiancée, Leah, are the next to greet me. Jake's welcome is warm, but his fiancée is a bit frosty. The only thing more severe than the expression on her face is her handshake. I'll bet that chick could tear phonebooks in half with her bare hands.

We get to the last couple at the table, a portly older gentleman named Demetri and his much younger arm candy, Irina. Demetri is very formal, standing to kiss my hand before introducing himself. He looks down at his wife adoringly, her name sounding beautiful as he says it in his thick, Russian accent. She doesn't speak or shake my hand. Instead, she toasts me with her champagne flute and smiles brightly.

The moment we sit down, it's all business, though not the business I'd expect. This meeting isn't about the dispensary; it's about the Cannabis Cup.

"Last time we spoke, we tossed around some ideas on how we could promote the strain leading up to the Cup. A few of you knew some folks who've participated as judges before, were you able to get in contact with them?" Carlisle asks, looking around the table.

Jenks leans forward. "I've got a couple. My boy from Philly. He judged in Cali and in Denver. He's also got a blog where he reviews strains and product—"

"How's his following?" Carlisle interrupts with a jerk of his chin.

"Solid. He's got a lot of hookups on the East Coast. If he gets down with E.C. Kush, New York won't be far behind."

"And the other?" Edward asks, sliding back in his seat and resting his arm across the back of my chair.

Jenks smirks. "An old friend from Cali. She judged in Denver last year and Amsterdam a few years before that."

"Tanya?" Jake asks, looking down at his drink.

Jenks nods then looks to Edward. "The one and only."

"She's a good one to have in our corner," Jake says quietly, still staring at the table. I can't help but notice the massive eye roll Leah gives him - or the small chuckle that falls from Edward's lips.

"She's got great connections," Jenks adds, "Real respected in the cannabis community. She'll do right by us."

"I've got a couple who're interested, too." Jake clears his throat, looking up at Carlisle. "ATL Ali from the Peaches and Herb blog is down to review the strain. And J-Blunts from Houston is in as well."

"Good work," Carlisle says, nodding approvingly from the head of the table. "E.C. has secured Rosebud Labs to verify the strain quality and THC percentage for the group. I've also been in contact with someone I'd like to participate." Out of the corner of my eye I see Edward shaking his head slightly before downing the last of his wine. "He's young, but his YouTube channel has over 200,000 subscribers."

"Who is it?" Jenks and Jake ask over each other.

"His name is Seth. He runs the Green Scene channel."

Jenks and Jake both groan, and Edward gives Carlisle an _I told you so_ look.

"What?" Carlisle widens his arms. "The kid's a tough sell, but I think he'll like our product."

"That kid's an asshole," Edward mutters under his breath.

Jenks furrows his brow. "Is that the one always vaping in his mom's basement?"

"That's the one," Jake answers. "Pasty-ass vap-ire."

Carlisle looks confused. "Vap-ire?"

"Doesn't go out in the sun." Edward smiles. "Hangs around vaping all day."

"With his vitamin D deficient ass," Jenks mumbles, motioning for the waiter to get him another drink.

"He can vape outdoors," Carlisle argues.

Edward shakes his head. "He doesn't do the portable vapes. Only uses the home vaporizers. Desktops and corded."

"Then we'll have a vaporizer on hand," Carlisle's tone has a note of finality in it.

The food comes and the conversation shifts to sponsorship. This appears to be Demetri's area of expertise since he and Carlisle do most of the talking. Edward's very attentive to me as we eat, making sure my wine glass is full and that I'm enjoying my meal. He gives me a taste of his risotto and steals a bite of my chicken parmesan. The moment the food is taken away his arm is back over the top of my chair, his fingertips gently grazing my skin every now and again as he and Carlisle wrap up the business portion of the evening.

When the dessert cart is wheeled out, I feel Edward's lips at my ear. "Dessert?"

"Of course." I pull my teeth over my lip, trying not to salivate over the choices. "I can't decide."

"Which ones do you want?"

"All of them," I sigh, "but I think I either want to order the bomboloni or the pistachio-filled cannolis."

"Get them both. We'll share."

"I thought you don't share."

"I don't." He grins. "But I'll share with _you_."

Turns out he's an excellent sharer. The kind of sharer who lets you eat off his plate and doesn't look at you funny if you accidently moan when the mixture of the vanilla gelato and salted caramel sauce hits your tongue.

"Good?" he asks, staring at my mouth, watching me pull the fork away slowly.

"Mm." I nod, trying to chew and swallow without embarrassing myself. " _So good._ "

He licks his lips then looks down at his plate, swirling his spoon in the gelato. "I'm really glad you came tonight."

"Me too."

"The reviewers are flying in next week to do the smoke session at my place; do you think you'd want to come to that too?"

 _Seriously? Another work function? "_ Ahh,"I keep my eyes on my plate and dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin, hoping he doesn't notice my scowl, "for Awarify, you mean?"

After an awkward beat of silence, he shifts in his seat beside me, and I can feel a lone fingertip dusting softly across my shoulder, brushing my hair away from the skin. His voice drops and his words come out in a low murmur, "For me."

When I turn to him, his eyes are still watching his finger move over my skin before flickering to mine. I smile. "Then it's a date."

The evening comes to a close, and we all walk out together as a group, exchanging our goodbyes, except for Esme. She kisses my cheeks and squeezes me tight, blatantly ignoring my three-pat hug rule. Thankfully, Carlisle cuts in and pulls his wife off of me with an awkward chuckle.

Smirking at the exchange, Edward holds his arm out for me to take and dips down to speak quietly, "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. She's great." I link my arm with his and lean into him as we stroll to the cab stand nearby. "Tonight was fun."

"It was. You saved me from being bored to death."

"Stahp." I gently slap my free hand to his chest letting it linger there long enough that he grabs it and holds it to him.

"I'm serious." He shifts his body so we're standing face-to-face and he's staring down at me, eyes intense. "I'm _really_ happy you came."

The sound of footsteps nearing jars me from his gaze. I glance over and notice Carlisle and Esme watching us as they walk. Esme's smile is practically splitting her face in half whereas Carlisle's expression is unreadable. Curious, maybe? Amused? I can't tell.

Edward's thumb swipes gently over the soft skin of my hand, my palm still pressed tightly to his chest. I look up just in time to see him step closer with his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

A throat clears from beside me and the cab stand guy slaps the top of the taxi. "You guys coming or going?"

"NOOOOOO!" Rose shrieks, bringing me out of the memory. "What a cockblock!"

"I know, right?" I slump back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. "I totally panicked. Threw my arms around his waist and gave him a great big bear hug."

"Stop it right now, you did not! Did he hug you back?"

I nod. "He did, but you know what the funny thing is?"

Her brow lifts slightly.

"I _swear_ I felt him kiss the top of my head."

"AWW!" The table shakes when she bounces in her seat. "Like a forehead kiss."

"Sure, exactly like a forehead kiss, only it's like three inches behind my forehead."

"No, I mean like a sweet little peck."

"Well he wasn't licking my scalp."

"This is huge! I think I can safely say you're out of the friend zone."

"Maybe. I don't know, the whole job thing makes it weird." I scoop up some guac on my finger and suck it off with a pop. "If it weren't for that, I'd have _no_ problem making the first move."

"Pfff, girl please, that man is begging you to make a move."

"You think?"

She taps her temple. "I know. Guys like him are too laid back for their own good. They need to be handled in a _certain way_."

My mind goes to a weird place where I'm dressed in latex and twirling a crop like a baton while Edward waits on the bed for his spanking. "Uh, I'm not so sure he'd be down for kink."

Tipping her head back, she laughs and laughs. "Oh honey, no. I'm not talking about kink. I'm talking about _you_ being _direct_. A little show and tell always works for me."

"Show and tell?"

Her words come out slow and deliberate. "Show him and tell him _exactly_ what you want."

"That's it? Just being direct?"

A slow smile spreads across her face and she tilts her head. "You show him once," she winks, "and you won't have to tell him again."

* * *

 **A/N: *Carrie ZM turns up her boombox and Lay sways to Cypress Hill and Sonic Youth's _I Love You Mary Jane_ * Who's ready for a little smoke session?**

 **Huge love and thanks to TLS for the rec and to Random Rita from Rob Attack for featuring Kush! Make sure you check out TLS on Saturday - our girl, Planetblue has a surprise for you, fandom!**

 **So last week I took a little Laycay and this week Carrie took a craycay, so we didn't get a lot of WIP'ing done - BUT - we're all about that salty sea air and sun kissed hair, so here are some Summer Lovin' fics we adore:**

 **Scorched by Cosmogirl7481 *Lay closes eyes and crosses fingers for an update***  
 **The Prettiest Regret by TheFicChick (this fic is like a funnel cake - it hits the spot every time)**  
 **Summer of Salt by lolapops (can we get a witness)**

 **What are the summer lovin' fics that you can't get enough of?**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted or lurked this fic! I'll see you next week!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

"What does one wear to a smoke session?"

Emmett shrugs, not looking up from the flax seed packages he's comparing. "No clue."

I toss a box of Captain Crunch into our shopping cart. "Helpful."

He shakes his head. "Not going there. This is one of those things you should call your sister about."

"I can't talk to Ang about this. You know how she _lives_ to judge."

His head snaps up. "You haven't told her yet?"

"Are you kidding? No way. You know how scary she is when she's pregnant."

"True."

"That makes _you_ the next best thing since you have more body and facial products than anyone I know."

"I'm not a chick."

"You're like a big, buff _girl_." I smack his bicep and feel the muscle tighten. "Eww. Quit flexing."

"Why?" he asks, waggling his brows and making his pecs dance which he knows it skeeves me out.

"Oh my God, that's so gross!" I cover my eyes then peek out a few seconds later to see him laughing while the party continues under his shirt. "Stahp! That's so weird."

"Uh, no. Weird is when you ask me girlie shit like what to wear."

"Fine, new topic."

"New topic."

"Should I get Ang a gift card for a vaginal steam after the baby comes?"

"Dear God, why?"

"I don't know, wouldn't it be nice to give her hardworking nethers a spa day?"

"No, I mean why do you ask me shit like that? You know I just pictured her snatch and now I can't unsee it."

"Well, I can't unsee the pictures you texted of the shit you took yesterday, so maybe we're even."

"Nope, not even close. You wanted to scar me for life, whereas I sent you that image for a business purpose. Do you know how much a picture of a piece of shit that looks like Donald Trump would go for on eBay?"

I roll my eyes. "So do you want to help me pick what I'm going to wear to this thing, or do you want me to tell you the shape to which Ang's lady garden is hedged?"

With a groan he widens his arms. "Dude, seriously."

"Seriously." We round the corner into the cookie aisle and I toss a package of Chips Ahoy into the cart. "Now, since this question isn't vagina or feces related, can't you just help a girl out?"

He grabs the cookies from the cart and puts them back on the shelf. "Well obviously you don't want to roll up in sweats and a T-shirt. This is his business, so you want to look nice."

"Right." I grab a package of Oreos and throw them in the cart instead.

"But not _too_ nice." He pulls the Oreos out and puts them away. "You don't want to show up looking like you're going to the club."

I let him walk ahead of me and take the Oreos again, hiding them behind my back before slyly tucking them in the cart beside the toilet paper. "Totally."

"Less is more. Maybe just some nice jeans and a top."

"Got it."

He snatches the Oreos and waves them in my face. "See, this is why you don't come to the grocery store hungry. Last time you bought these you ate them all in one sitting."

"I'm pretty sure that's the serving size."

"Wrong," he tosses the package back on the shelf, "the serving size is three cookies."

"You are a thief of joy, Emmett McCarty."

He winks. "You're welcome."

I cross my arms over my chest, willing myself not to pout. "I think I'm just a nervous eater."

"You've got nothing to be nervous about. The guy's into you."

"I guess."

"Please, you guys were on the phone the past few nights for forever," he says, hopping on the cart and whizzing by me. "I mean who even calls to chat anymore? Just send texts all night like normal people do."

"I don't know." I look down at my toes and grin from ear to ear. "It was kind of sweet. Old school or something."

"Definitely old school. He was probably calling you from a landline."

I laugh. "He's not _that_ old."

"Your dad's gonna flip."

"Probably."

"I want to be there when you tell Ang."

"I'll probably _need_ you there when I tell Ang."

"Why? You think she'll go wild?"

"You never know," I say with a shrug, feeling slightly guilty for talking about my sister like this. We're closer than close and far more co-dependent than most would consider healthy. She's a Charlie Swan, Jr., though. Typical type A personality with a great big heart. "It's a crapshoot."

He grabs a box of microwave popcorn off the shelf and shakes it at me with a smile. "I can't wait!"

* * *

"Hello." Edward's voice rings out from the intercom, crackling through the speaker.

"Hey, it's me … uh, Bella." I cringe when I see the camera lens.

"Come on up," he says with a laugh. "Take the elevator to the fifth floor."

The buzzer sounds and the door unlatches. I blow out a deep breath and push it open, remembering the first time I came through this back hallway on the night I met Edward. The freight elevator creaks as it climbs and with each floor that passes I can feel my entire body buzzing with anticipation.

When I reach the fifth floor, he's there waiting with one arm propped against the door jamb, the other stuffed in his pocket. Something about the bed head in a button-down-look just does things to me. Top it off with a killer smile and I'm a goner.

He mouths a 'hi' as he pushes the cage door over and I just stand there grinning like an idiot, holding up two bags of Doritos, "I panicked at the grocery store. Is this okay?"

"Cool Ranch _and_ Original." He smirks. "They're going to love you."

I laugh. "Sadly, there're no smoke session recipes on recipes-dot-com, so I took a shot in the dark."

He takes the bags of chips into one hand and slips his other palm against mine, pulling me out of the elevator. "Pretty much anything sold at a gas station qualifies as a smoke session provision."

"Noted." I nod and entwine my fingers with his. "I didn't know you lived in the building."

"Yep," he winks, "one of the perks of being related to the owner."

"Carlisle?"

Edward nods once, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Of course." He chuckles and pushes open his apartment door, pulling me in behind him. "The man can squeeze a nickel out of anything."

"It's gorgeous," I say, looking around the open space and nodding toward the floor to ceiling windows that are just visible over the partition. "Lots of light."

"Yeah," he surveys the room, "not what you expected, huh?"

"Not even close."

"Lemme hear it."

"No beaded doorways? Or tie-dye tapestries?" I point to the empty space above his mantle. "No huge marijuana leaf mounted over the fireplace?"

"Sadly, no," he says, tossing the bags of chips onto the counter before resting his hands on his hips. "Although an oversize leaf would really tie the room together."

"I'm kidding. This place is great." My fingers move over the top of his soft leather couch. "So how does this work – the whole smoke session thing? Like what should I expect?"

"Well," he grabs a large box off his kitchen table and brings it to the living area, "basically everyone will come in, exchange a few pleasantries and shoot the shit for a bit."

"And then?"

"And then come the pot-li-tics."

"Pot-li-tics?"

"Yeah, you know, everyone's gotta get in their opinion. Who's smoked the best herb, who's rolled the fattest blunt, whose preferred method of toking up is the best." He shrugs one shoulder. "Pot-li-tics."

"I see." Tapping my finger on my chin, I move to stand beside him. "So basically it starts off as a circle jerk then turns into a dick waving contest?"

His fingers grip the box, jostling it slightly as his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. After a few moments he composes himself and looks up at me, grin firmly in place. "Pretty much, though I can't say I've ever been to a circle jerk or a dick waving contest."

"Sure you have," I pick up a bright green bong from the box in his hands and wink, "you've been on Facebook, right?" I look away, but hear the box shaking again. "So pot-li-tics aside, they just come and sample your work and then go home?"

"For the most part. They're touring the facility right now and then Carlisle, Jenks, and Jake are taking them to dinner afterwards."

"You're not going?"

He steps closer and I feel his fingers brush softly against mine. "I was thinking I could take you out—"

"YO!" Jenks' voice echoes through the open space as he bursts through the door.

Edward mutters a quiet 'shit' and greets Jenks with a jerk of his chin before glancing back down at me.

Jenks' footsteps stop. "Oh damn, man. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I call out behind me, before turning back to Edward. My fingers move up his forearm and over his stomach to tug on his shirt. I lean in close, my voice just above a whisper. "I'd love to."

"How you doin', Bella?" Jenks asks, sweeping me into a great big hug.

"Doing well, you?" I pat his back a few times and thankfully he's down with my three pat rule.

"Doin' what I do, you know?"

I don't know, but I nod anyway just as the door swings open again, this time Jake comes charging in, sounding winded.

"On their way," he pants, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. "Carlisle's bringing them up."

"Did you take the stairs or something?" Edward asks, looking equal parts amused and concerned.

"You better get it together, boy," Jenks warns. "Tanya will be up soon."

"Shut up," Jake grumbles, standing and straightening his clothes before stepping back outside with Jenks to welcome the guests.

My voice lowers. "I thought he was with Leah?"

"He is."

"And Tanya?"

"An old flame."

"An _old_ flame?"

"There may be some unfinished business there."

"But he's marrying Leah?"

"That's his plan."

"So why is Tanya here?"

"That's Jenks' plan."

"I didn't take Jenks for a _saboteur_."

Edward chuckles and shakes his head slightly, pulling a bag of buds from the box. Voices from the hall become louder and louder until the door swings open and several new faces file in.

I watch Edward interact with each of them. He's all business with his smooth handshakes and salesman smile. That is until the tall, gorgeous blonde steps in the room with Jake trailing closely behind.

"E.C.," her voice is soft and sultry as she draws out his name and places her hands on his shoulders, "it's been too long."

He pulls her in for a hug. "How've you been, Tan?"

"Fair to middling. You?"

Stepping back, he shoves his hands in his pockets and glances in my direction. "Never better."

She follows his gaze and her smile deepens. "I can tell."

Reaching out, she takes my hand in both of hers to introduce herself. Within three minutes of speaking to her, I'm Team Jenks and a willing saboteur. This chick is everything that Leah's not. She's Kate Nash cool, all effortless and easy with her vintage looking dress and her air of not giving a single fuck.

Once everyone finds a seat, Carlisle and Edward greet the group, thanking everyone for traveling in to check out their product and facilities. They get right down to business, introducing a representative from Rosebud Labs to verify the findings on E.C. Kush. Bumbling and awkward, the rep explains the process and rigorous testing procedures.

Edward looks tense and anxious throughout the presentation with his arms folded over his chest and his lips pressed together tightly. Carlisle is wholly the opposite, looking relaxed and grinning as he watches the group like he's mentally counting the dollar signs. When the rep finally confirms the high THC percentage, Edward's stiff posture relaxes and an incredible smile breaks out over his face.

"Thirty one percent?" Tanya asks, leaning forward to make sure she hears him right, but he answers with a nod. "You're sure?"

"Told you he'd do it," Jake murmurs to her, but I doubt she heard him because she and all of the other tokers in the room are eying the nugs of E.C. Kush on the table like they've all just won the pot Powerball.

Carlisle excuses himself to escort the lab rep out of the building. Once the door is shut, the real smoke session begins as all of the guests scoot closer to the coffee table, grabbing their preferred paraphernalia and buds.

Jenks stands and addresses the room. "I wanted to thank you all for comin' today. Figured I should do some introductions." He places his hand on the shoulder of the guy sitting next to him. "From Philly, where the steak is skinny and the blunts are fat, this is my man, Kid Caius." Squeezing the brim of his Eagle's hat and keeping it low over his eyes, Kid Caius acknowledges the room with a small jerk of his chin.

"Mmm, mm, mm," Jenks begins as he bows down to kiss the hand of the teeny-tiny-tatted-up brunette wearing a wife-beater and camo pants beside Kid Caius. "And now the sweetest Georgia peach I know, my cannabis queen. From the Peaches and Herb blog, I'd like you all to meet ATL Ali." Giggling, she gives us a royal wave, holding the big green bong like a scepter.

"Now out of H-town," Jenks continues, motioning to a shaggy looking blonde haired dude, "eh, I've got nothin'. This is our boy, J-Blunts." This guy is the quintessential stoner sporting the drug-rug-poncho pullover with cargo shorts and about three days worth of B.O. He drawls out a 'sup' and tips his imaginary hat to the group before going back to the business of grinding the Kush.

The word is barely out of J-Blunts' mouth when the tall, lanky guy tinkering with what I'm guessing is the vaporizer cuts in. "I'm Seth. I run the Green Scene YouTube channel." He pauses like we're all going to bum rush him for an autograph, but no one in the group looks up, not even Edward. "It's a weekly show," he tries again with his eyes scanning the room for even a hint of recognition or acknowledgement. "It's pretty popular."

Tanya gives him a saccharine smile and pats his knee. "Good for you, kiddo."

Jenks introduces Tanya and me next, calling her his lovely lady friend and me his fellow Awarican. Most of the guests give me a head nod or a wave, but Seth gives me a whistle, a wink and a questionable _God Bless Awarica._

Once introductions are over, the conversation shifts from who's who to who's done what. While J-Blunts tells this insane story about dabbing, Edward grabs some rolling papers and a nug. I watch him lay out the materials before him, all evenly spaced and methodically like Dexter preparing his kill room. Every movement and measurement is precise, from the size of the bud he selects to grind to the careful canoe shaped folding of the paper.

"What should we roll today?" Jake asks, rubbing his hands together.

Edward shakes his head. "You ask that every time and you always end up rolling the same thing."

"There's more than one way to roll a joint?" I blurt my thought aloud and instantly wish I could take it back.

"Of course there is," Jake answers with a grin. "There's the pinner, the Dutch Tulip, the Windmill–"

Edward chimes in, "The L, the XXL, the Pitchfork, the Joker—"

Jake starts up again, "The Crossroads, the Saturday Night Special, the Plumber's Joint—"

"I get it, Bubba Gump," I say with a roll of my eyes, "there's more than one way to cook shrimp."

Chuckling, Jake jerks his thumb towards me. "She's got jokes."

Edward bumps his knee to mine. "You want to roll one?" I hesitate, but then he slides closer, "Come on, I'll help you."

The man has the patience of Job as he teaches me how to roll a j. His voice is smooth and steady while he instructs me, leaning in and positioning my fingers when necessary.

"You got it," he encourages with a smile, "now you just want to pinch the top and roll it back and forth."

"Like this?" I use my thumbs and pointer fingers to shape the weed.

"Yep," he nods then places his fingers over mine to help me tuck paper tightly around, "and now you just need to, uh," he pauses for a moment, wetting wet his lips, "seal it right across the top."

"Like this?" The tip of my tongue slips out and I slowly slide it across the paper, his eyes watching every movement.

"Yeah," he breathes.

I hold up the crooked and slightly damp joint. "Well?"

He pats my knee. "It takes practice, but that's pretty good for your first time."

"That's why you should vape," Seth speaks up from across the table, attaching some sort of bag balloon to his Jetson's-looking-contraption. "No muss, no fuss. And none of that origami shit."

I hear Jake groan and notice Edward shake his head before going back to finish rolling his joint from earlier.

Either Seth is oblivious or just gives no fucks because he continues his spiel, "Not only that, but vaping is better for you. It's a pure hit, smooth and fast. No smoke inhalation, no skunky smell in the room. Good for the dorms, apartments—"

"Your mom's basement," Jake chimes in.

Almost everyone in the room is laughing, except for Seth who's too focused on watching his bag fill with vapor. "Whatever, man."

"You're missing the point of it all, young buck," Edward pipes up, his words coming out slow and deliberate. "Rolling isn't about efficiency. It's about the ritual. The craft …" he trails off with his eyes fixed on the grinder in his hands. "The skill level involved in expertly manipulating the paper and making sure the weed's spread evenly for the best burn. Makes the high more … satisfying somehow, knowing that you've earned it."

"Mmm hmm," Jenks concurs while Jake and Kid Caius nod emphatically.

"Right," Seth drags out the word condescendingly. "You go ahead and roll your papers, Grandpa Simpson. I'll be over here getting high AF."

"Dayum!" Jake and Jenks say in unison _Friday_ style like Smoky and Craig before bursting into laughter.

Edward grins tightly and his eyes narrow as he scoots forward, "See, that right there," he jabs a finger in Seth's direction, "that's what's wrong with all of you coming up right now. Always in such a hurry and _all_ about that instant gratification. You're all climax, kid. No build-up. No work on your part. It's laziness, plain and simple." Seth rolls his eyes, but Edward keeps going, "You've gotta slow down, _son_. Enjoy the high. Take it slow and work up to that shit. And for God's sake, stop saying _AF_. Take the time to say the words because every now and then it just feels good to say _fuck_."

Apart from a few chuckles and the sounds of ATL Ali's bong water bubbling, an awkward silence fills the room. Edward goes back to grinding his weed and Seth fastens his lips to a mouthpiece, inhaling the vapor from his bag. As much as I want to replay the memory of the beautiful way Edward's lips wrapped themselves around that f-bomb, I can't because it's clear the circle jerk portion of the evening is over and we've sadly arrived at the dick waving contest.

Tanya coughs beside me, staring at her pipe with this insane smile on her face, but it still does nothing to break the tension in the room. My eyes water a bit as the smoke floats through the air and the smell gets stronger by the second.

"You okay?" Edward murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand on my knee.

I nod. "You?"

He chuckles and dips his chin in Seth's direction, keeping his voice low, "What, that?"

"Yeah," I whisper watching him bring the unsealed joint to his lips.

"That's pot-li-tics," he says with a wink before moving the tip of his tongue across the paper.

Not even ten minutes later, the awkwardness is gone. Everyone's sitting around, vegging out, bullshitting about this and that all while munching on Doritos. Kid Caius has his head tipped back on the loveseat with his eyes closed, listening to his headphones while Seth gives J-Blunts and ATL Ali a vape tutorial so they too can get high AF.

Jenks, Jake ,and Tanya take turns telling stories about the old days, laughing as they reminisce. And Edward's just there, leaning back and taking it all in with his arm draped over the back of the couch and his freshly rolled, unsmoked joint behind his ear.

About an hour later, Carlisle returns to collect his VIPs for their dinner reservation. Edward sends each one off with a handshake, a promise to follow-up and a little E.C. Kush to remember THC by. Seth's the last one to leave, strutting up to me and taking my hand in his.

"Bella, it was a pleasure. You are," he pauses to bring my hand to his lips all Pepé le Pew style, "absolutely _exquisite_."

Chuckling, I gently pull my hand from his grasp. "And you are very, very high."

His eyes move to Edward, who's watching the interaction with a somewhat amused expression on his face. "True, but you are nonetheless."

"Well, thank you." I look away, hoping he doesn't ask for my number when I feel Edward at my side.

"E.C." Seth extends his hand. "Thanks for having me out, man."

"No problem. We appreciate you coming," he lies smoothly.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Seth bobbles his head a few times. "Although I think you're kind of an asshole, you've got a killer product here."

Edward smirks at the backhanded compliment but says nothing.

"I mean, I gotta say, when Carlisle first approached me, I thought he was gonna float me some of that boutique bud. All pretty but puny. No kick. But this shit here, man …" He whistles low. "It's dope."

"That it is."

Once he sees Seth out, he presses his back against the closed door and blows out a deep breath, though he looks anything but relaxed.

"Are you all right?" I ask, taking a seat on the couch.

"Uh huh."

"You sure?" I pat the cushion beside me. "You look anxious."

Shrugging one shoulder, he pushes off the door and plops down next to me. "A little."

"Why? I thought it went great."

"I guess we'll see," he says, pulling the joint from his ear and tossing it on the table beside my pitiful first attempt at rolling, and I huff at how unfortunate mine looks next to his. "What?"

I gesture towards our handiwork on the table. "One of these things is not like the other."

"It's the beauty on the inside that counts."

"Said every ugly joint ever." I pick his up and inspect it from every angle. "Are you going to smoke this?"

He shakes his head. "I try to only allow myself one a week."

"Really?"

"Yep. Every Sunday morning in bed with my paper." I look at him skeptically. "What? You don't believe me?"

"I totally believe you, I just find it funny that you still read," I use Em's air quotes, " _the paper_."

"Believe it," he laughs and tries to pluck the joint from my fingers but I snatch my hand back.

"Do you make exceptions?"

"To reading the paper?"

"To your once a week rule."

"Not usually."

"Bummer." Pursing my lips, I hold the joint out for him to take.

"You want to try it?"

I shrug. "I'm … curious."

He hesitates before slowly holding his hand out. "It might be too—"

I cut him off, leaning in close to whisper. "Just one hit."

Running his teeth over his bottom lip, he nods and grabs a lighter from the table, then brings the joint to his mouth. The lighter flicks and the flame lights up his face as he squints and takes a deep pull. Turning to me he sucks it back and holds it there.

"I thought you don't share."

Smirking, he dips his face to mine and I feel this thumb softly brushing my cheek. "I don't," he murmurs against my lips before exhaling slowly.

I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips barely dusting mine before breathing him in. The plume of smoke fills my mouth, and I inhale deeply letting him fill my lungs.

His fingertips sweep gently down my neck and he speaks softly, "Open your eyes, Bella." Our gazes meet through the haze of smoke and he inches back just slightly. "Now exhale."

My eyes water as it burns in my chest, and I cough so hard the smoke just billows out of my mouth and not in the sexy way I've seen on Tumblr.

"You good?" he asks, still holding my face in his hand.

I nod and try to look away, my cheeks flushing with heat and embarrassment. "Wrong pipe, I think."

"Eh, it happens to the best of us. Maybe we should've gone with a lollipop instead."

"No." I shake my head, placing my hand over his.

"No?"

"Then I'd miss the best part."

Leaning in, I watch his eyes flicker to mine as I press my mouth to his once, then again and again until I close my eyes and feel him smile against my lips.

"Definitely the best part," he breathes, slipping his fingers into my hair and parting his lips.

Warm and wet, our mouths move together and dear God, he kisses like he tokes. Long and slow and so, so deep. We pull apart panting, resting our foreheads together and staring into each other's eyes.

"Dinner?" he asks, sounding breathless.

"Sure."

"I thought we'd try this new place down the street for our second date."

"You mean first."

"The investor dinner was the first."

I shake my head. "Business function. Confirming with an email is kind of ambiguous, don't you th—"

He silences me with a kiss.

And there's nothing ambiguous about that.

* * *

Dinner is a four hour affair spent mostly with us laughing and loitering and kissing whenever we can. We're _that_ couple in the restaurant. The ones that think they have the entire place to themselves. It's disgusting, but I love it.

That night, when I creep into my apartment, I hear Emmett's bedroom door open, then see Rose peek around the corner from the hall.

"How was it?" she whispers.

I sigh. "Amazing."

"Oh my God, did you—"

"We didn't."

She hums and taps her nails on the wall and I realize there's a good chance she's naked back there.

"Do you have clothes on?" I blurt, averting my eyes. "Dude, certain things are required for civilized conversation. Shirts, undergarments, shoes if your feet look like Emmett's." She grins and steps out from the hallway fully covered, wearing Em's 'Gym and Juice' T-shirt. "Sorry."

She shrugs. "No undergarments, though."

I roll my eyes and reach into my cleaning supply cabinet where I house my super-secret-stash of Salerno Butter Cookies.

"So?"

"So it was great."

"Still just friends?"

I shake my head, remembering the way he kissed me against my car tonight and left me with no doubt that he and me are in fact a _we_. "We're much more than friends."

"You look really happy."

"I am," I say before popping a cookie in my mouth.

And I swear I've never been higher.

* * *

 **A/N: Only three chapters left, pals! Hope you're still having fun with it!**

 **Big thanks and love to our bestie Planetblue for rec'ing Kush!**

 **So this week we've got two extra special WIP recs that you're all probably reading already, and if you aren't you should be because these fics are fab as are the amazing ladies who write them. They're two of my very nearest and dearest and they deserve all the love!**

 **Edward Takes a Holiday by Planetblue - *Carrie ZM dons a fedora and Lay rocks some Crocs* PB is back, killing it as always!**

 **Far Away Flame by Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy - *Lay and Carrie belt out Eternal Flame* Yum's serving up all the swoons, sighs and smiles with this one!**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted or lurked this fic!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

"You ready for this?" Em asks, pulling his key from the ignition.

Nodding, I stare straight ahead at my sister's perfectly manicured lawn. "Let's do it." We climb out of the car and head over to her front door where I give her two courtesy knocks before walking right in. "Ang?"

"In the kitchen," she yells from the back of the house.

"Psst." We hear from the dining room where I see my four-year-old nephew, Riley, waving to us from his time out chair.

"Hey buddy," Em whispers, tiptoeing over to give him a high five. "What're you in for?"

He makes a face. "Mommy says I make bad decisions."

Glancing down the hall to make sure my sister isn't coming; I sneak over and squat down beside him. "Aww, pal."

"Dude, I make bad decisions all the time." Em waves his hand dismissively.

"He totally does. Maybe your mommy should put him in time out too."

Riley lets out a small giggle then slaps his hand over his mouth, covering it all wide-eyed.

"Listen," I poke his little tummy, "I'm gonna get you sprung, kid. I'll put in a good word with the warden."

Em gives him another five. "See you on the outside, Ri."

Ang is waiting for us when we walk in, sitting at her white Carrara marble-covered island and staring at us over her clear mug of Oh My Chai tea. Swallowing quickly, she sets down her mug and looks at me with her I've-got-gossip-crazy-eyes. "Oh. My. God," she says, punctuating each word with a slap to the counter. "Have you talked to Mom?"

I ease onto the stool beside her. "No. Why?"

Waving her hand front to back, she does a little shimmy while singing Queen Bey, " _All the single ladies, all the single ladies!"_

"Get out!"Now I'm slapping the counter. "She gave Phil-billy the big boot?"

Ang nods smugly before bringing her cup to her lips.

"Well, we all saw that coming," Emmett chimes in before opening up her fridge. "The guy was a stroke."

I narrow my eyes, watching my sister savor her sip. "What else?"

She sets her cup down slowly, tapping her fingers to the side of the mug a few times. "Well, you can't say anything, but …" She lets that 'but' hang there a moment, looking at me to confirm that I'll keep my mouth shut.

"I won't say a word."

"Well apparently, she left him a few weeks ago."

"And?"

"And it looks like she's not only had a change of heart, but also a change of address."

My brow furrows. "Meaning what? She's seeing someone new already?"

"Not someone _new_ per se…" she trails off, picking up her mug again.

I try to remember some of the more prominent relationships my mom has had in the past decade. There was Marcus with the comb-over and the bitchin' car, handsome Garrett with the halitosis, and Dr. Gerandy, the plastic surgeon from Miami who told me it's never too early to Botox. "I'm drawing a blank."

She gives me a wink. "You never forget your first."

 _First_? My mouth pops open as the realization hits me. "Oh my God! Dad?" She toasts me with her mug, enjoying my disbelief immensely. "You're shitting me. They're back together?"

"Reunited and it feels so good," Emmett croons from the fridge, using a Go-gurt for a microphone.

"You're fucking with me."

"I'm totally _not_ fucking with you."

"Swear on your kids' eyes?" She nods. "Swear on Grandpa's grave?"

"I swear. Ben's cousin Heidi said she saw them in Port Angeles at Bella Italia getting all _Lady and the Tramp_ over some spaghetti."

"Stop it."

"Hand to God," she promises as she scoots her pregnant body off the barstool until her bare feet hit the hardwood floor. "So I called that old nib-noser from across the street—"

"Mrs. Cope?"

"Yep, and of course she was more than happy to tell me that mom and dad are in fact playing house."

"Did you confront mom?"

"You know I did." She smiles and pours more tea. "I came at her like Maury on Baby Daddy Day."

"Did she try to deny it?"

"Nope. Although I wish she did instead of giving me a play-by-play of how _romantic_ our father is." She shudders. "Made me sorry I even asked."

I cover my eyes, willing away the creepy thoughts of my parents getting weird around the house together. "Eww."

Her voice softens. "I think they didn't want to get our hopes—"

My phone rings and vibrates against the marble and a picture of Edward and I pops up on the screen. I watch Ang's eyes narrow, homing in on the image of us, trying to figure out who's the man kissing me in the picture. Snatching the phone up, I quietly excuse myself.

"Hello," I answer just above a whisper, turning back to make sure my sister's not following me.

"Hey, did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, I'm just visiting my sister. What's up?"

"I was thinking we could have dinner tonight at my place."

I sneak another glance behind me. "Definitely. That sounds great."

"Say seven-ish?"

"Can't wait." I lean against the wall and wink at Riley in the corner. "Do you need me to bring anything?"

"No, I've got it covered."

"You sure? I could swing by the gas station, pick up some Cheetos."

He chuckles low in my ear. "Ah yes, I'm sure that'd pair well with the steak."

"Ooh fancy."

The background noise on his end gets louder. "I gotta get back."

"Me too. I'll see you tonight."

When I walk back into the room, the atmosphere has completely shifted. Her kitchen looks less like a Jeff Lewis design and more like an interrogation room. Silently, she stirs her tea with her lips pressed into a tight smile, staring me down over her glasses.

As I slip into my seat, I notice she's standing slightly over Emmett who's hunched down, reading the nutritional content of his Go-gurt and purposely not meeting my gaze. It occurs to me that looks an awful lot like little Riley in the time-out chair.

I give him a pinch. "You rat-fink-snitch!"

"Ow!" he yells, bracing himself for more of what he deserves. "I didn't want to!"

"But you did, you turncoat!"

"Naw dude," he touches his finger to his temple, "she pulled that Jedi mind shit on me. Told me she'd show me her birthing video—"

"You pussy!"

"ENOUGH!" Ang scolds us with her mom voice and taps her spoon against her cup before pointing it at me. "Bella, apologize to Emmett for calling him a pussy."

"Sorry I called you a pussy." _But I'm not sorry_.

"And Em, _you_ apologize to Bella for being a pussy."

"Never," he whispers defiantly.

Ang's spoon clanks against the counter, snapping my attention to her. "So … E.C. is it?"

"Edward," I correct her.

"Edward." She hums. "Is it serious?"

"It is, but it's still kinda new too."

"How long?"

"I met him a couple of months ago, but we've been seeing each other for a while now."

"What's a while?"

I wince. "Like a month." Her brow arches higher so I slide my phone to her and tap on the screen. "This is him."

She does that weird gaspy squee thing girls do, and I immediately recognize the oh-my-God-let's-start-planning-your-wedding look in her eyes. "Tell me everything."

If the writing thing doesn't work out for me, I'm pretty sure I could have a fairly stellar career in politics. I don't go into specifics; instead I play the deliriously happy angle, gushing over how wonderful he is. "You're gonna love him, Ang. He's like seriously a great guy. Super chill, smart, funny," I sigh, propping my chin on my hand. "He's just the best."

Taking a seat, she mimics my position. "Where'd you meet?"

"At a … soirée."

Em grins. "He works with my girlfriend."

"Oh, so he's a pharmacist too?"

"Not exactly." I look down and trace my finger over a vein in the marble. "He's more on the _production_ side of the business."

"So he's like a pill counter?"

"No. He literally _produces_ the product and Rose distributes it to those who may require … medicinal relief." Looking up, I see her trying to piece it together. "Or recreational, if that's what you're into."

She gasps again, no squee this time and legit does a pearl clutch move before slapping Emmett's other bicep and whisper yelling, "You two are dating drug dealers?"

"OW!" He covers his arm. "NO!"

"He's not a dealer!" I insist, smacking the counter. "He's a Master Grower and a part-owner of a _very_ successful dispensary."

"A Master Grower," she repeats, laying the condescension on pretty thick. "Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

"Ya see," I jab a finger in her direction, "this is why I didn't want to tell you. You're judge-y, just like all those sanctimommies you despise."

Her palm flattens on her chest and she looks positively aghast. "I am _not_ like those judge-y sanctimommies. I'm simply concerned, you ass."

"Why? Do I not seem ridiculously happy? Can't you just be excited for me that I'm in a relationship with the most amazing guy ever?"

"Debatable," Em pipes in, motioning to his body as if _he's_ God's gift.

"Okay." She steeples her fingers and brings them to her lips. "I don't know if this guy has like a foot long dick or what, but—"

"But what?"

"But you can't get serious with someone involved with _that_."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. He's not slinging dope on the corner, Ang. He's a professional."

"He's a pothead."

"So what? He smokes once a week; it's not like he's snorting crack."

"Your father was a D.A.R.E Officer; you _know_ it's a gateway drug!"

I roll my eyes. "Jesus Christ Superstar, I can't with you!"

"And I can't with you. What do you think you're gonna marry this guy or something?"

"Maybe I will."

"Great, where are you registering? Bed, Bath and Bong?"

"He only smokes joints."

"Ooh, he sounds classy; kind of like that delinquent you dated in high school."

Em claps and rubs his hands together. "The shade! I love it."

My mouth pops open at the mention of my high school boyfriend –who may or may not have had a penchant for defacing public property. I turn to Emmett in disbelief. "Is she throwing shade?"

"You better clap back."

"I didn't want to have to do this," I say with a shake of my head before pressing my palms together then opening them like a book. "It's time for a reading … from the Good Book of Shade."

Em bows his head. "Take her to church, now."

"She who beds a big tobacco executive every night shall not judge my boyfriend, for she has _no_ business."

"Oh please." She brushes me off, but looks away. It's a low blow for sure since I know she initially struggled with Ben taking a prominent spot at a tobacco company. Not even her healthy donation each month to the American Cancer Society can lessen the guilt. "That's totally different."

"Why, because he's contributing to killing hundreds of thousands of people a year, and Edward's trying to help alleviate their pain?"

"You're reaching there, crazy train. Ben's not a killer, it's just a—"

"A job," I finish for her with a smirk.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution rests." Em stands, tosses his Go-gurt in the trash then taps Ang on the nose. "You got served, Preggo."

Snapping her fingers, she points to the door and effectively dismisses him without breaking eye contact with me.

"Fine, but I'm springing the kid." He stomps to the door and calls out to Riley. "Come on out, buddy."

"Yes!" Ri shouts and comes bounding into the room seconds later, high-fiving Em on his way out the back door.

"We're gonna go make some _bad_ decisions."

Defeated, her lips twist as she crosses her arms over her chest, resting them on her baby bump. "Can I meet him?"

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do, he's obviously important to you."

"He is." My eyes fall to my phone, seeing Edward with his eyes closed and his lips pressed to my cheek while I cheese at the camera. "Truly, he's the sweetest guy. Very attentive and thoughtful. He dotes—"

"How is he in bed?" she asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Ang."

"Come on," she whines and points to her stomach. "Horny pregnant lady here."

"Truthfully, I don't know." Flashes of moments from Emmett's birthday party flood my mind. I can still taste the Kush lollipop on his tongue and feel the strong grip of his hands as I ground my body against his in the booth at the back of the bar. "I haven't um …" I trail off and nearly shiver at the memory of him kissing all along my neck before settling at my ear and groaning how badly he wanted me. "Had the pleasure."

* * *

"Well this looks fancy," I say, eying the steak dinners on the candlelit table for two. "What's the occasion?"

Wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, Edward drops a kiss just below my ear. "We're celebrating."

"We are?"

"We are." He spins me in his arms and turns me to face him. "We got in."

"Amsterdam?"

Beaming, he nods. "E.C. Kush is an official Cannabis Cup entrant."

"That's fantastic. Congratulations."

He dips down and quickly pecks my lips before pulling out my chair for me. "Wine or are you cocktailing?"

"Wine, please." Smiling, he heads to the kitchen and grabs the bottle and a corkscrew. "So when do you go to Amsterdam?"

"In November." He pops the cork and pours me a glass. "The week of Thanksgiving actually."

A small selfish part of me is bummed we won't be together on our first major holiday, but I push that thought away and opt to focus on the positive as he hands me my wine. "We need a toast."

He sits down across from me and raises his beer. "We do."

I lift my glass. "To the cup."

"To the cup," he repeats. "And to Amsterdam."

"To Amsterdam."

"And to us."

I smile, clinking my glass to his bottle. "To us."

I can feel his eyes on me as I sip my wine. Leaning forward, he tips his bottle towards me. "So uh, do you think you'd want to go?"

I nearly spit. "To Amsterdam?" He nods once and I look at him like he's lost his mind. "Aro loves you guys, but I don't think he'll foot the bill for me to cover the event and toke around town."

"Probably not," he agrees with a laugh, "but I will."

"You know that's over three months away, right? You might not even like me three months from now." I give him a wink so he knows I'm messing with him.

Chuckling, he shakes his head and brings his bottle near his lips. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to like you for a _very_ long time, Bella Swan."

"You think so, huh?"

"I do," he says simply as he grabs my hand across the table and rubs his thumb across the top of my fingers. "And I'd really like it if you were there with me."

The way he's staring at me with the candlelight flickering over his face and his eyes intense has my stomach doing somersaults. "I'd love to."

His smile is magnificent. "You had me worried for a minute there. I thought maybe you had plans."

"Nope. No plans. My sister's going to her in-laws for Thanksgiving this year, so my holiday was pretty much going to be spent eating baked goods and watching Netflix."

"How'd your visit with your sister go?"

"Pretty well, minus a small moment or two of pettiness."

"So no physical assaults with grain products?"

I laugh as I cut into my steak. "Thankfully no. She's dying to meet you though."

"You told her about me?"

"Well yeah, I mean … I think I'm going to like you for a long time too."

Forty minutes, several Ang stories, three beers and a bottle of wine later, I'm sitting on the countertop beside the kitchen sink watching him rinse and load the dishes into the dishwasher. My mom always said dishpan hands are a sign of a good man. I always suspected she said that just so my dad would get off his ass and help out, but now, seeing Edward get all sudsy in the sink, I'm thinking she may've been onto something.

"You're sure I can't help you out?"

"No, you're my guest."

"Are you one of those people who can't relax if everything's not all neat and orderly?"

He winces. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well," I wave a hand over his clutter-free space, "your place is pretty tidy. Do you have some sort of clinical condition I should know about?"

With a laugh, he shuts off the water and shakes his wet hands in my direction, splashing water all over the arm of my cardigan. "Sorry about that, I, uh," he stutters a bit when I slip my sweater down my arms, giving him a good look at my spaghetti strap sundress.

Slightly flustered, he grabs a dishtowel and does his best to avert his eyes from my cleavage, focusing a little too hard on drying his hands. It's kind of adorable.

"Edward," I whisper, holding my hand out for him to take. "Come here."

He slides his hand in mine and I pull him close until he's standing between my open legs with his palms lying flat on my knees. Smirking, he presses his forehead to mine. "Why are we whispering?"

"Because," I murmur against his lips, "I want you to kiss me."

Soft and slow, our mouths move together, but his hands stay still. My fingers move up his arms, over his shoulders and into his hair, needing him closer.

"Bella," he groans, tightening his grip on my knees.

My hand trails down his chest before reaching for his and bringing it to my shoulder, sliding his fingers beneath the thin strap. His tongue peeks over his lips and his eyes watch as it slips down my arm.

"Touch me here," I beg, moving his hand over my chest. Goosebumps erupt on my skin when his thumb barely brushes over my nipple and a small gasp escapes my lips.

I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his strong hands kneading and squeezing the flesh while his tongue swipes gently up and down my neck before biting the soft skin just above my breast.

"Oh God." My words come out like a breathy whimper when his tongue finds my nipple, winding and circling around it slowly. "More," I plead with a swivel of my hips.

He answers with a grunt and slides his hand up my thigh and around to grab my ass. My legs wrap around him tightly, wanting to feel him everywhere.

"Touch me," I say again, this time it's a demand.

"Where?" he asks, skimming his nose across the valley of my breasts.

I wait until his eyes meet mine and reach for his hand again, pushing it down my stomach and beneath the bunched up fabric of my dress until I feel his fingertips skim the lace between my legs. "Here."

"Christ." He kisses me hard, bending my body back as his fingers press down and rub me into a frenzy.

It's not enough, so I pull the lace to the side and spread my legs wider. The tips of his fingers hover over my clit, making every single nerve ending stand on end and a panted _please_ fall from my lips.

I barely have the word out of my mouth before his fingers are on me, working me over and up in the best possible way. My thighs clench when his finger dips inside me, inching in and out and driving me insane in the process.

"More."

He adds another, circling them slowly. Almost _too_ slowly, so I take matters into my own hands. Grabbing his wrist, I pull him to me until his palm is flat against my clit and his fingers can go no deeper. Out then in, he repeats the motion again and again, watching my face each time his hand hits the most sensitive part of me.

"God, yes!" I moan, releasing his wrist and cupping him over his jeans. He growls out a fuck and grinds his erection into my hand before bringing his lips back to mine. Undoing his belt proves tricky one-handed, but I manage and make quick work of his button and zipper.

"WOOOOOOOO!" Jenks voice sounds from the hallway a mere second before Edward's door is thrown open. "E.C. Kush comin' for that Cannabis Cu—"

"FUCK!" Edward yells, standing to his full height and blocking me from Jenks' view.

"What's –"

Jake's voice is cut off by my mortified scream and Edward shouting at them to get out.

He's quick to pull up my strap and wrap my cardigan around my shoulders while I smooth my skirt down. I hop off the counter and slip into the bathroom, hearing Edward zipping his pants behind me.

"You're supposed to knock, you rude motherfucker!" I hear Jake scold Jenks from the living room.

"Man, how was I supposed to know they were gettin' down in here? I didn't hear no Johnny Gill."

"Who still gets down to Johnny Gill?"

"Boy, shut up! You know Johnny makes the panties come off."

"Come on, guys," Edward sighs. "What the fuck?"

"E.C., I'm sorry man. We just wanted to drop by to celebrate the good news. I swear I didn't see anything."

I turn on the faucet, not wanting to hear anymore about what he did or didn't see. When I look in the mirror, I see my face is flushed though I'm not sure if it's due to our countertop canoodling or sheer embarrassment.

"Bella," Edward calls from the other side of the door, knocking softly. "You all right?"

I blow out a breath and crack the door open. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I am." I pull open the door and lean up on my tiptoes to peck him on the lips. "But you owe me one."

I hear him chuckle as I walk into the living room, giving Jenks and Jake an awkward wave. "Hey guys."

Jenks stands. "Bella, I'm so—"

"Don't worry about it." I spot a bottle of Goldschlager on the table. "What's that?"

"We're celebrating," Jake says as if it's obvious.

"With Goldschlager?"

"What's wrong with Goldschlager?" he asks, grabbing the bottle and looking it over like it's contaminated.

"Nothing at all," I say with a shrug and a smart-ass smirk. "It's just not what I thought three _dudes_ would celebrate with, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I guess I just expected you guys to drink something a bit more _manly._ Like cognac or whiskey or pure grain alcohol. It's fine though, we can just slap on a few sashes that say 'bachelorette' and dance around to Taylor Swift songs all night while we drink it."

Jenks and Edward burst into laughter and a small smile forms on Jake's face and he raises the bottle to me. "A ball-buster. I like it!"

Jenks pours the shots and the first of many toasts begin, each one seeming longer than the last. They toast to the cup and the kush, to new and old loves, and their sixteen-year-long bromance. By the time the Uber arrives an hour and a half later, Jenks and Jake are murdering a Johnny Gill song all the way to the elevator, rivaling Esme for the title of worst singer on earth.

I shut the door behind them, turning the deadbolt so hard it echoes throughout the room. When I turn around, Edward's sitting on his loveseat with his elbows on his knees, buzzed and smiling.

He beckons me over with a finger. "Come here, beautiful."

Once I'm within arm's reach, he pulls me to him until I'm standing between his legs and his hands grip my hips. "What are you …"

The words get stuck in my throat when I see him glance up at me, placing a soft kiss just below my belly button. "I believe you told me I owe you one."

He hums against my stomach as his fingers slowly trail the length of my legs down to my ankles then back up again until they disappear under the hem of my dress.

"Oh," I breathe, closing my eyes when he reaches the waistband of my underwear and drags the material down to the floor.

I steady myself as he brings my foot up to rest on the couch and presses a soft kiss on my knee, then another and another, inching his way up my inner thigh.

"More," I pant, weaving my hand in his hair, but he doesn't move faster.

If anything he goes slower and I can feel his lips curling into a smile against me. "Feel good?"

"So good," I moan, throwing my head back when his hand moves between my legs. "So much better than I could've imag—"

His finger teases my entrance and his now open mouth moves higher on my thigh. "Tell me."

"Wha—"

His tongue winds its way up until his mouth is only a hairsbreadth away from where his thumb is now gently stroking. "Tell me what you've imagined."

I bite my lip as several images that I've conjured up while tiptoeing through the two lips come to mind.

"Please," he whispers a split-second before his tongue flattens against my clit.

My eyes roll to the back of my head and my hand tightens in his hair and the dirty thoughts tumble out of my mouth, sounding like incoherent babbling and panted pleas.

"The elevator …." His finger slides inside and I gasp. "Hard and fast against the cage."

He moans against me, his other hand reaching around to take a firm hold of my ass.

"Your grow rooms."

Another finger. We both moan this time.

"Slow and we … ahh."

His teeth graze and his tongue soothes.

"Fog up the glass."

"More," he groans and I feel it everywhere down there.

"In that back booth."

He sucks my clit into his mouth roughly and his fingers move faster.

"Mmm. Your hand between my legs and your mouth whispering, ugh, filthy things in my ear."

His gritty 'fuck' might be the hottest thing I've ever heard. He goes wild, nipping and licking and sucking every sensitive inch until it's too much and I'm too close and my voice comes out as shaky as my limbs feel. "Take off your pants."

He's unbuckled, unzipped and fishing a condom out of his wallet in no time flat. My greedy eyes take him in as his pants and boxers move down his long, lean legs, leaving him beautifully exposed to me, hard and thick and ready.

I climb on top, frantically kissing his lips and fisting his shirt while he pulls the cardigan and straps of my dress down my arms. My hand snakes down between us, wrapping my fingers around him and guiding him to where I want him most.

"Slow."The word comes out strangled and strained as he covers my hand with his. "I want to take my time with you," he coos into my ear, easing me down his length, filling me inch by inch. "Let me enjoy you."

Holding me there for a moment, he kisses me deeply, making my head swim and my heart race. He rocks my body over his at an achingly slow pace until I can't take it any longer and pin his shoulders against the cushions.

Hissing, he frees my hips and his hands travel up my spine then down my chest, palming and teasing me with his tongue and teeth. My eyes fall shut and my head tips back as I move over him faster and faster, spurred-on by the sounds of my skin sliding against his and the rough noises he makes when I sink down and circle him.

"Bella," he grunts into my cleavage, seizing my hips again and dragging me down hard one last time. His body jerks and his fingers dig into my flesh as he struggles to catch his breath while I tense and quiver around him, moaning out his name.

We lay there for several moments coming down from our high and letting our breathing slow. He brings my hand to his face, pressing a soft kiss to my palm then resting it over his heart. "Will you stay?"

Still completely blissed out, I hum and he chuckles.

"I have Cheetos."

Leaning up on my elbow, I arch a brow at him. "Regular Cheetos or Cheetos Puffs?"

"Regular."

"Ooh, sorry," I say, sucking in my teeth and moving to sit up, "I'm more of a puffs girl. M'kay, thanks, bye!"

Laughing, he pulls me back on top of him and holds me there, kissing his way up my neck to whisper in my ear. "Noted." A lone fingertip traces down my body. "Now, how else can I convince you to stay?"

 _Dear God, just like that_. "Do you have any Oreos?"

* * *

 **A/N: *Carrie ZM dances provocatively to the vocal stylings of Johnny Gill while Lay cringes in the corner* Let the record show that this is the first lemon I've written since Oct 2014 so my perve swerve may be a bit rusty.**

 **BUT our recs tonight are sure to bring the dirty and the heat with just one shot!**

 **Little Shames by lovelybrutal *Lay whispers* I want to slap this Edward's face then ride it #thatsnormalright**

 **Mise en Place by jawhawkbb *Carrie ZM kisses fingers* C'est magnifique!**

 **So – two more chapters left. I'm more than halfway done with Chapter 8 and I'm hoping to update next week *fingers-crossed***

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted or lurked this fic!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –** **  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,** **  
** **Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.** **  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

 **EPOV**

 _Three Months Later_

"Sector 4, Blueberry is ready to be topped," I mutter aloud, scrawling it on the clipboard for the Cultivation Supervisor to handle while I'm away in Amsterdam this week. Turning the corner, I'm about to check on the Northern Lights when I hear the heavy production room door open then slam shut.

I freeze, trying not to panic because the grow crew went home around five o'clock and it has to be almost eleven. My inner MacGyver kicks in, and I'm wondering what kind of damage I can do to the prowler with a clipboard, a pencil and a shitload of topsoil. _The possibilities are endless._

"Edward," the intruder calls out from the entrance of the greenhouse, sounding exactly like my girlfriend.

"Back here."

"Where's here?"

"Northern Lights."

"Indicas?"

"Very good."

I hear the swish, swish, swish of her Minion suit—as she calls it— before I see her smiling face turn the corner. "Working late tonight?"

"Uh yeah," I stammer, tapping my pen against the clipboard, "just wanted to do one last walk through the grow rooms before we leave tomorrow."

"That's what I figured." She winks and holds up her hand with my phone in it. "You forgot something upstairs."

"Christ." I shake my head. "I'm all over the place today."

"You all right?"

"Yeah," I lie.

Lifting up on her tiptoes, she curls her fingers around my neck and kisses me softly. "Nervous?"

I shrug.

"You've got nothing to be worried about. Your plants are going to be fine. And that Cup is as good as yours," she whispers against my lips before kissing me again. "You've got this."

Tucking her head into my chest, she hugs me tight and all I want to do is squeeze the shit out of her and tell her that I'm fucking in love with her and maybe say some other sappy shit. Sadly though, I suck with words, plus she'd probably laugh her ass off if I got all Nicholas Sparks on her.

On the other hand, she has to know, right? It _has_ to be obvious that I'm crazy about her. Only a man head over heels in love with someone would open themselves up to some of the questionable shit I do to make her happy. Like watching _Outlander_. Or pretty much any show on Bravo. Or listening to any song from this decade and downloading it onto my iPod.

Not that I'm whipped by any means, but it's pretty clear I'll do almost anything for this girl, even things that occasionally make me want to reach down and grab my nuts just to make sure they're still there.

I wrap my arm around her and lean down to kiss the top of her head. "I missed you today."

"Oh yeah?" She looks up at me. "Well by the end of the week you'll be sick of me."

 _Never._ My fingers slip lower, grabbing a quick handful of ass and patting it softly. "Not gonna happen."

"So you're not going to believe where I've been tonight," she says, taking my hand and leading me toward the hybrid grow area.

"Where's that?"

"Ring shopping with Emmett."

"Wait, what?"

"I know, right? He totally sprung it on me at lunch today. One minute he's all _bon voyage_ , telling me to have fun in Amsterdam this week, the next he's like P.S., I'm asking Rose to marry me and I'll probably be moving out in January."

"Wow."

"That's what I said."

"Are you … okay?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm happy for them although I'm not _super_ pumped about having to deal with the nightmare of moving, but what can you do?" She shrugs. "So anyway, I've spent a good three hours today looking at rings and talking him out of proposing to her on a Jumbotron."

"Stop."

"I'm serious, Edward. If he was left to his own devices, that poor girl would have a diamond encrusted gold _E_ for a ring and he'd probably ask her by spelling out 'marry me' with dumbbells."

I make a mental note to scratch any future proposal ideas that include a Jumbotron or weight lifting equipment. And stuffed animals. Bella _hates_ stuffed animals.

"So what do you think he should do then?"

"I don't know, I just think it should be about them, not a spectacle, you know?"

 _No, I don't elaborate so when I finally get the balls to tell you that I love you, you'll think it's perfect._ "You're not a spectacle kind of girl?"

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "I've made a spectacle of myself plenty of times. I just think that grand gestures are grander when they're sincere."

 _You speak in riddles, woman._

"The words shouldn't be rehearsed; I think it should be just kind of in the moment, you know what I mean?"

 _In the moment, got it_. "Are you bummed about him moving out?"

"A little, I guess. It'll be weird not living with him, but I don't think I'll be drinking myself into a stupor and listening to Adele songs since I'll still see him all the time."

"True."

"I just feel like I need to give Rose a tutorial on what to expect."

"I'm sure she knows."

"I'm sure she _thinks_ she knows, but she has no idea. I shaved his back two weeks ago for the love of all things holy. I don't think he's let that fun little fact slip yet."

I cringe. "Probably not."

She gets quiet for a moment, watching me carefully as I adjust some of the grow lights. "Have you ever …" she trails off and wiggles her ring finger at me.

"Been married? No."

"Engaged?"

"Nope. But I did live with one of my exes for about a year before we split."

"Oh," she murmurs so softly I barely catch it then looks away quickly. "You guys must have been pretty serious then?"

 _Loaded question. Tread lightly_. "At the time I thought so, but now, not so much. We dated our junior and senior year of college then moved in together after graduation."

"That's a long time."

"Eh, we were high for most of it."

"So what happened?"

 _Kate became a psycho hose beast who gave me a marriage ultimatum_. "We just wanted very different things." _That sounds much nicer_.

"Such as?"

"She became ambitious, I guess. Saw all of her friends getting engaged and marrying guys with nine-to-five jobs and moving to the suburbs. Wanted that for herself, I suppose."

"And you're not about that life?"

"Wasn't at the time, no. I was pretty content just growing and smoking bud all day, every day."

She hums instead of commenting, distracting herself by checking on a recent batch of transplants.

"What about you?"

"What? Engaged?" She snorts. "Not even close."

"No serious boyfriends?"

"I suppose if you count my senior year of high school with a small town hell-raiser and my two year stint in college with a philosophy major."

"Only two?"

"Three if you count this hot thing I have going with a Master Grower."

Rolling my eyes, I go back to checking my plants. "He sounds awesome."

I turn the corner and hear her talking to the Cotton Candy Kush plants, calling them her lovelies and attempting to sing them a song from the _Hamilton_ soundtrack. Fun fact, Bella's rapping skills are considerably worse than Esme's singing skills. It's adorably bad.

Getting back to work, I double and triple check the soil and the lights over the E.C. Kush. I underline my instructions for the Cultivation Supervisor, then set a reminder on my phone to follow-up to make sure it's done exactly this way. My pen taps on the clipboard incessantly, surveying the grow area just in case there's something I'm forgetting to do before I go.

"Hey," Bella whispers from behind me, wrapping her arm around my middle and scaring the shit out of me.

"Jesus!"

"You didn't hear me calling you?"

"Sorry, I was –"

"Worrying?"

 _Maybe_. "Focusing." Walking away, she mumbles something I don't catch. "What was that?"

She leans back on the work table, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smile. "I said you're in E.C. mode."

"E.C. mode?"

She nods and pulls down the hood of her suit which makes me want to scream 'NOOOOO' with her proximity to my plants, but then her hair spills around her shoulders and she's just too fucking gorgeous to yell at like a complete psychopath. "You're all business. Tight and tense."

"And?"

"Sometimes I think," her fingers move to her zipper, "that maybe E.C. needs to relax a little." My eyes follow the zipper tab as she drags it down her body, ogling every inch of skin and satin she reveals. "Cut loose every now and again."

"Bella," I warn, watching the suit hit the floor.

With a wink, she reaches back to take off her bra. "E.C."

"We shouldn't—"

The bra falls at my feet. "Shouldn't what?" she asks smirking as she slides back onto the work table with her hand trailing down her stomach and dipping beneath the waistband of her underwear.

Gripping the clipboard tight, I blow out a deep breath and take this moment in because so long as I live, I'm certain that there will never be a more beautiful sight than Bella Swan naked and spread beneath my grow lights, surrounded by a purple sea of E.C. Kush.

Running her teeth over her bottom lip, she tilts her head. "Come here."

I'm in front of her in an instant and the clipboard clatters to the floor forgotten as she rips my zipper down my body. Her mouth covers mine, kissing me hard while I pull the skimpy white fabric over and slide my fingers inside of her.

"E.C.," she breathes my name again, digging her nails into my skin and wrapping her legs around me.

When she bites down on my neck I lose it, shoving my boxers down and slamming into her. The table creaks and shifts beneath us as we move faster and faster and her hands slip lower to pull me in deeper. She eggs me on, nipping at my ear lobe and moaning words into my neck that are too dirty to come from such a pretty mouth. I come hard, roaring out a 'fuck' that echoes throughout the greenhouse and collapsing on top of her.

Panting, I look up at my girl and her lazy smile matches mine. She lifts her hand and gently runs her fingers through my hair. "There's my Edward."

 _Fuck, I love this girl.  
_

* * *

According to Carlisle, traveling together is the true test of a couple's ability to go the distance. If that's the case then Bella and I are golden since we've managed to survive three hours in line at airport security, twelve hours in the air, and two horrible in-flight movies without wanting to kill each other.

The jet lag is brutal though, so we spend our first ten hours in Amsterdam in bed and not in the fun way. Bella isn't much of a morning person, here or in the states. I've learned over the past few months that her ideal morning consists of silence, scones, coffee, and reading the 'news' on her phone. I use the term _news_ loosely because I suspect it includes People Magazine and Gossip Cop, but that's none of my business.

"How close is the nearest Starbucks?" she asks, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes as we exit the hotel.

"No clue."

Sighing, she points across the street. "That coffeeshop will have to do."

"Uh, no." I shake my head. "You can't score any coffee there."

Her brow lifts slightly. "M'kay."

"Coffee shop, two words, you can get your fix. Coffeeshop, all one word is where I get _my_ fix."

"Pot shop?"

"You got it. Lucky you, I know a place that sells both."

"Sounds good." She high fives me then slaps my butt. "I'll wake, you bake."

Hand in hand, we walk the streets along the canal with her listing off all the tourist spots she wants to see while I calculate their proximity to my favorite coffeeshops. "Here we are," I say as we approach the brightly painted building.

"The Green House?" She lifts her glasses and places them on the top of her head, eyeing me skeptically. "Is the coffee even any good here?"

"I have no idea, but the Jack Herer is excellent."

"Jack Herer?"

I nod, opening the door. "One of the best strains out there. Also one of the most awarded."

"A fellow Cup winner?"

"I'm not a Cup winner."

Reaching up, she holds my face in her hands. "But you will be."

"And if I don't win?"

She kisses my lips. "Then we come back and go for it again next year."

"You think you're still going to like me a year from now?"

Her eyes narrow and she smirks at me turning her words around on her. "I'm going to like you forever, Edward Cullen."

 _Now this is a moment_.

I open my mouth to say the words when a couple of backpackers barge through, bumping Bella with their gear and apologizing profusely in French.

 _And the moment is gone_.

Twenty minutes later, Bella and I are sitting along the canal. Her, sipping her coffee and waving to the boats as they pass, while I roll my first _Saturday Night Special_ of the week.

"Okay, so I was thinking we could do a walking tour today," Bella says, her voice sounding hopeful.

"Sure."

"Or maybe a canal tour in one of the open air boats."

"Whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"What about a bike tour?"

"Let's not get nuts."

She smacks my arm then goes back to her list. "Tomorrow we'll do the Van Gogh Museum and maybe the Rembrandt House Museum. What about the Heineken Experience?"

I shrug. "I think you get beer on the tour."

Bella scrawls a checkmark on her travel guide. "Then that's a definite _yes_. What time do Carlisle and Esme get in tomorrow?"

"Two I think."

"Are we doing dinner?"

"Playing it by ear."

"So we have today and tomorrow alone before you have to get to work?"

"Pretty much." I drag my tongue over the paper and seal it up tight. "You girls have plans for when we're at the Expo?"

She shifts in her seat and tries hard not to smile. "We've kicked around a few ideas."

Something about the way she says it makes me think we'll need bail money. I tilt my head and spark it up, hearing that paper burn. My eyes close as I pull and goddamn, man, that first hit is like no other.

"Having a moment over there?"

I open one eye and nod, holding it in a moment longer before exhaling in the opposite direction. "You should try it."

"Pass." She crawls into my lap and raises her phone to snap a shot of us. "Now act like you like me."

I swear I hear about forty-five clicks over the next three minutes so there has to be one decent shot. She stays on my lap as we go through them. They're all good in my opinion, but she's ridiculously hard on herself and picks each one apart.

"That's a good one." I point at the one of us cheek to cheek and smiling.

"No. My eye looks wonky."

"What about that one?"

Her lips twist like she's considering the one of her smiling and me kissing her temple. "It's okay, but there's a weird piece of hair on my forehead."

She flips through about ten more before I tap my finger on her screen. "I like _that_ one. You look beautiful."

She smiles. "But you're not even looking at the camera."

I shrug. "I'm looking at _you_."

Her cheeks redden and she mutters something quietly as she posts the pic.

"What was that?"

Her eyes don't leave her phone. "I said that I love the way you look at me."

I lift her chin with my finger and her gaze meets mine. "I—"

"Excuse me," some asshole wearing a _Kiss Me I'm High-rish_ sweatshirt interrupts my declaration of love. "You guys mind if I steal this seat?"

I scowl at him. He's lucky my girl's a sweetheart. "Sure thing."

Smiling stupidly, he sits down and chats us up as he lights his pre-rolled doobie. _Pussy_. "You guys here for the Cup?"

She nods and rubs my chest. "We are. My boyfriend's an entrant."

"Aw, no shit?"

Bella laughs. "No shit."

"Well what's the strain name so I can at least check it out?"

"E.C. Kush."

"E.C. Kush," he repeats looking all puzzled. "Never heard of it."

She hands him a THC business card and smiles. "You will soon."

Thankfully the dude takes the hint and leaves us alone. I lean in and murmur a 'thank you' against her cheek.

"For what?"

"For the free publicity."

"Nothing's free, Cullen." She stands and holds her hand out for me to take. "Time to pay up."

"Of course."

"And it's gonna cost you. You're gonna have to romance the shit out of me all over this city."

I kiss her hand. "You got it."

"We'll start with the walking tour, but then we're eating at the restaurant I saw on the way here that's made entirely of vending machines. It looks life changing."

She twirls and tucks herself into my side and I squeeze her tight. "Whatever you want, beautiful."

* * *

Friday morning, Carlisle and I roll-up on the Expo, dressed down and low-key. Initially, we planned to come in all guns blazing with sponsorships and a booth where we could pass out samples, but then Carlisle took another look at our business plan and one word jumped out at him.

Exclusivity.

With that one word, we reassessed everything. Sure, we could come in here like every ganjaprenuer out there right now, getting our name and our strain out there, but that's not necessarily going to increase the demand for our product. The smoke session definitely helped in creating a big buzz around the strain, and as painful as it is for me to admit, my brother was right about Seth. His favorable review is still drawing quite a bit of interest from customers and bloggers alike.

We're on a lot of people's radar at this point and Carlisle is banking that a Cup win will start a bit of a frenzy. He likens it to the hot toy at Christmas. The harder it is to get, the more they'll want it.

We lay low, attending the panels for growers and seed companies before visiting the vendor booths. Carlisle lets me do most of the talking, but I can tell he's sizing everyone up and taking notes on what they're doing, both right and wrong.

"I've just got one more booth I want to check out," Carlisle says, jerking his chin at some table full of edibles and concentrates. "Then we can meet the girls."

"Sounds good."

He barely has his back turned before I get my phone out to text Bella three words. Not the three words that I've been trying to say all week, but the sentiment is just as true.

 _I miss you._

She texts me right back. _Miss you more_.

Doubtful. My fingers move over the screen. _What've you been up to today?_

Her response comes in the form of pictures. The first is an image is of her and Es in front of The Anne Frank House. They both have tears streaming down their face and mascara smeared beneath their eyes.

Another picture immediately follows. This time the girls are on a bicycle, Laverne and Shirley style, smiling huge like they're having a blast. I fully expect the next image to be of them at some sort of emergency room since Bella was peddling, but it's not.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I mutter when the next one comes through of my girl with her tongue out, her hand making the rock out gesture beside Esme who's taking a hit from a two-story bong.

My phone beeps again. This time it's a picture of the girls drinking beers in one of the city's distilleries.

I don't miss all the empty glasses near them on the bar.

 _You girls have been busy. Where are you now?_

"All right. Let's head out," Carlisle says from behind me just as Bella's response appears on the screen.

 _I don't know, but Esme just shelled out 150 Euros for something called a banana show._

I look at my brother. "Ever heard of a banana show?"

"Uh yeah." His words come out with a bit of a chuckle. "The Banananenbar's famous for some pretty lewd shit."

"Yeah, well your wife's got my girl watching that _lewd_ shit."

He just laughs. "I doubt that was Esme's idea."

Twenty minutes later, we're paying the cover charge and making our way through the tourist trap. The bar is pretty much what I expected – seedy chic with cheesy music and lots of flesh to ogle. I hear the girls before I see them, clapping and whistling at the strippers dancing for them.

"Carlisle!" Esme shouts when she spots us and waves us over. "Come see the banana show!"

A large group of rowdy guys erupts beside me, cheering on the guy whose face is being pressed into a stripper's cleavage. My brother grins and takes out his wallet. "I'll have what he's having."

I fully expect my sister-in-law to slap him in the mouth, but instead she grabs his ears and pulls his head to her chest.

Bella jumps out of her seat and into my arms, peppering me with vodka screwdriver flavored kisses before looking back to the dancers squatting in front of her and Esme. "This is my boyfriend."

Two of the ladies wave while the other blows me a kiss and asks me if I want a banana show. I turn to Bella. "What's a banana show?"

The place is loud so I can barely make out what she's saying over the group of guys and the porn music. The parts I do catch sound a little questionable. "… huge dildo … in and out … launched it from her vag … almost hit the guy behind us … put a banana in a condom … made love to it … then the guy ate it."

"Yeah. No," I say firmly. "I don't think I'd ever be able to unsee that shit."

She pouts. "Fine."

My brother slaps some money down on the stage and I see one of the girls produce a banana seemingly out of thin air. "We're gonna take off."

Neither Carlisle nor Esme spare us a glance because their eyes are fixed on the banana being peeled.

"Bye dolls!" Bella yells and blows kisses at the dancers.

"Bye Bella," the three girls reply in unison.

Bella points to the tall blond with the huge rack. "Heidi, I'm gonna have Jenks email you. You're gonna love him." I look at her like she's nuts. "What? I think she's his type."

It takes me a full five minutes to pull Bella away from her new friends. Once we hit the street she presses herself into my side. "What's next?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean where are we going? Ooh!" She points to a neon sign. "Let's see a peep show."

"Pass."

"Come on, man. It's the last peep show in Amsterdam. We've gotta do it. It's like … nostalgic or something." I shake my head and she tugs on the hem of my shirt. "Why not? It'll be fun."

"Being in a confined space, ankle deep in tourist semen hardly sounds fun to me."

"Well yeah, when you put it that way, I guess it doesn't." Just when I think I've successfully redirected her, she stops in her tracks with her eyes pinned to a building across the street. "We're totally doing that."

"Doing what?"

She yanks my arm and practically drags me behind her. "We're seeing a sex show."

Almost a half an hour later, Bella and I are seated in the front row of the theater and served our drinks. We're surrounded by stag parties and old dudes in loose fitting clothing, just the kind of folks you'd expect to see watching this kind of thing. But then there's my girl, cheering when the lights go down for the frizzy-haired woman sauntering around the stage, removing her clothing as she goes. I'm lulled into a false sense of comfort watching her climb onto a bed and strike a few poses. As I relax into my seat, I think to myself that this isn't so bad. But then she lights up a cigarette and spreads her legs to smoke it.

With her vagina.

I sneak a peek at my girl and she's over there all wide-eyed and slack jawed, unabashedly staring at the Virginia-Slim-sucking-vag. "That's just impressive."

 _She's nuts_. "If this is the opening number, I'm going to need to start drinking."

The act is mercifully short, but as quickly as the curtain closes, it opens again. The DJ tells us to make some noise for the couple making their way to a circular bed in the center of the stage. Both the man and woman are tanned and oiled, like they were slathered with grease. They've gotta be in their late forties – way too old to be wearing sequined g-strings and aviators.

He lays her down on the bed and pulls the fabric down her legs and holds it up like it's some kind of trophy. A techno beat fades in, thumping steady and slow while he gyrates and drags his sparkly banana hammock to the floor. I slam my beer, trying to not make direct eye contact with the dick and balls helicoptering about five feet away from me.

Bella's beside me bouncing and clapping to the beat, smiling excitedly like she's seeing Shamu or something and not some oily bohunk getting ready to mount a chick. When I look back to the stage, the couple is in the sixty-nine position, exaggeratedly sucking and licking in time with the music. This goes on for way too long, getting faster and faster as the tempo builds.

When the beat drops, he swings around like he's on a pommel horse and spreads her wide by her ankles. The circular bed begins to spin and the DJ starts up another song. This one's loud and the bass is so heavy you can feel it. It's distracting, but sadly not enough so that I miss the guy pushing inside and humping to the music.

"This is insane," I whisper to Bella when the guy flips the woman over while he's still inside of her, like a rotisserie chicken and hits it from the back.

"I know, right?" she says without taking her eyes from the stage. "We're totally trying this when we get home."

I laugh, but she's serious.

"Download this song to your iPod."

We stay for the rest of the show, shockingly, since each act became steadily more bizarre than the last. When Bella and I finally get back to the hotel, there is no attempt at synchronized fucking because my girl is too busy tossing her cookies.

"It must be something I ate," she surmises, wiping the puke off her chin while I hold her hair.

"Could be. What'd you eat?"

"Raw herring."

"Maybe." _But my money's on the Dutch Gin_. "Let me get you some water."

I run to the mini-fridge and grab a bottle, hearing her dry heaving the entire time. When I get back in the bathroom she's hugging the toilet all teary-eyed. "Don't look at me, I'm disgusting."

"You're gorgeous." _Even with a string of drool hanging from your lip._

I pull her hair up and rub her back while she takes a drink. "You're like," she pauses and hiccups, "so good to me and so there for me and I'm just this walking, talking nightmare."

"Stop."

"No for real, you're just amazing and I think I'm in lo—"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence because she's too busy retching violently. Although I'm pretty sure I know what her next words may have been and as much as I want to tell her that I feel the same, I don't want to do it kneeling beside a bowlful of vomit.

* * *

Bella sleeps in most of the following day, only waking to shoo me away when I offer to stay with her. Carlisle and I head out to a few of the coffeeshop parties and have lunch with Demetri and Jenks. We bullshit a bit and toast Jake who's stuck back at home, moving his stuff out of his place with Leah. Or what's left of his stuff I should say. Ol' girl took a bat to his electronics and some bleach to his clothes. That's what he gets for putting a ring on a psycho.

When I get back to the hotel, Bella's singing in the shower, off-key as per usual. I flop on the bed and cover my eyes, pushing thoughts of tonight's award presentation from my mind. A few years and countless hours of work have led up to this and I know it's sick that a small piece of metal would even remotely be a source of validation for me, but it is. I want it so badly that even the possibility of not getting it makes me nauseous.

Bella's phone goes off on the nightstand and it sounds like someone wants to FaceTime. I'm guessing it's Emmett with news of his engagement.

"Babe, someone's trying to FaceTime you."

"Grab it for me, I'll be right out."

I pick up the phone and see the name on the screen. This could either be a good thing or a bad thing.

 _Ang would like to FaceTime._

Ang. I can't tell if she's completely sold on me yet. She's nice enough though. Always warm and welcoming, but I think there's a part of her that's convinced I'm trying to corrupt her kid sister or something.

I accept the call and smile when I see Riley pop up on the screen sitting at his kitchen table with bed head and a bathrobe on. "What's up, Ri?"

"Hello, Mr. Edward."

"You can call me Edward, buddy."

He shakes his head. "Mommy says you're a gardener and I call our gardener Mr. Jared because I'm polite."

 _A gardner?_ Ang's face appears behind him, mouthing a 'sorry' with a sheepish grin.

"We're calling to wish you good luck at your gardening party today," he continues as his mom places his breakfast in front of him. "Aunt Bella says your flowers are the best."

 _Your Aunt Bella's the best._ "Thanks Ri. How's your baby brother?"

"He's good, but he spit-up on Mommy's face yesterday." He leans in and whispers. "She called him the f-word."

"She did?" Bella slips in beside me and waves at her nephew. "The one that rhymes with truck?"

He nods. "Rhymes with trucker."

"Did you put her in time out?"

Ang appears in the screen, quirking her brow at my girl then grabbing the phone from Ri. "How's Amsterdam, lovebirds?"

We smile at each other, but Bella answers for both of us. "The best. What's going on there?"

"Not much. I talked to Mom and Dad today. They're coming for Christmas." She scrunches her nose. "And I think Dad got an earring."

Bella makes a face."Ew. That's so weird."

"They're excited to meet Edward though."

 _As if my nerves weren't already shot_. "Can't wait."

"They're going to love you," Bella promises and bumps my shoulder with hers before turning back to the screen. "We've gotta go though, Ang."

"Boo."

My girl winks at me. "This cup isn't gonna win itself."

* * *

"Ugh, this is ridiculous," Carlisle grumbles as we listen to one of the winners accept his prize, droning on and on.

"You want me to pull a Kanye on him?" Bella asks with a straight face. "Go up there like 'Imma let you finish, but E.C. Kush is the best strain of all time.'"

"No," I say over my brother's excited _yes_.

"All right now." Jenks rubs his hands together when the emcee announces our category is next. "Here we go."

A long-time marijuana activist is welcomed to the stage and he strolls up, sucking on a fat blunt and feeding off the applause from the crowd. He stands up there and bullshits for a bit, talking about the industry and the importance of fighting for our right to smoke up.

Meanwhile, I'm over here mentally trying to figure out our odds against the other thirty entrants in our category. My eyes move to the powerhouse seed companies, the ones who have won more Cups than anyone else. They're all huddled together like pageant contestants, holding hands with their heads down and their eyes closed. I look at my brother and he's the fucking picture of calm with his shoulders back and his hands in his pockets.

Bella rubs soothing circles on my back as the man opens the first envelope to announce the third place winner. I hold my breath and blow it out the minute one of the seed companies goes wild in celebration over their victory.

"All right, now," Jenks says, clapping a few times before massaging my shoulders. "One of these is ours."

After several minutes, the crowd quiets as the second envelope is opened. The guy with the blunt pauses and squints to read the name. I glance down at Bella and she gazes back at me, squeezing my hand reassuringly. Looking in her eyes, I know it's a moment for sure, but this time there's a welcome interruption.

"Second place for best hybrid goes to E.C. Kush from The Healing Collective!"

Bella launches herself into my arms, wrapping her whole body around me tight and kissing the shit out of me. I can hear our group going nuts around me, but the only thing I can focus on is the look on my girl's face when she tells me she's proud of me.

"Bella, I …" I lick my lips and try to make the words I want to say come out the way I want to say them. Because she needs to know that she's better than any strain I could grow, any hit I've ever taken or high I've ever felt. She's better than any good thing that's ever happened to me and that includes the Cup. "I—"

"E.C. Kush motherfuckers!" Jenks shouts, pointing out to the masses. "I told y'all we were comin' for you."

Bella jumps down, so I can follow my brother to the stage. He jogs up like a _Price Is Right_ contestant to claim the prize. The reigning Miss Cannabis hands him the trophy which he holds over his head, then points to me.

"This is all you," he says, slapping me on the back and placing the Cannabis Cup in my hands.

I take the moment in and look out over the crowd. Jenks is kissing the top of Demetri's bald head and rubbing it for good luck, while Bella and Esme are hugging and jumping and possibly crying in each other's arms. My girl beams up at me, looking all starry-eyed and I just know that I can't let this moment pass. So I mouth the words I've been dying to say and the smile that spreads over her face is fucking breathtaking.

She's right there as I exit the stage and hops back into my arms, crushing her lips to mine. I pull back slightly and brush my thumb across her cheek, needing to say the words so she can hear them. So she can truly know. "I love you."

"Edward," she sighs.

"More than anything."

"I love you, too." She presses her forehead to mine. "More than anything."

* * *

 **A/N: Super sorry about going MIA, pals. Just one more chapter to go – hopefully it will come easier than this one did and will require less questionable browser searches. Truly, as I walk away from this chapter, I'm certain of two things. One – there is some shit I've seen while researching Amsterdam that can never be unseen. And two – God as my witness, I'm going to get over there someday to see them in person. *Carrie ZM's eyes go wide***

 **Sadly, RL has kept us both super busy and we've been regrettably slacking on the WIPing front. So sound-off, fandom - what WIP is owning you these days?**

 **Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, tweeted or lurked this fic!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rating M**

 **Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –  
** **I just like to get weird with her characters.**

 **Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM,  
** **and my wonderful pre-readers, Planetblue and Robsmyyummy  
** **Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.  
** **Writing with you girls is always a blast!  
**

* * *

"You're up?"

"Don't remind me." I side-eye him from behind my iPad before tossing it on the bed and stretching. "What time did you leave this morning?"

"A little after six, I think."

Glancing at the clock, I see it's nearly ten. "Too early," I whine, kicking the covers off a bit. "We should both still be asleep."

He smirks, holding up a coffee and a bag from my favorite bakery in one hand and his newspaper in the other. "But I brought you a Sunday morning special."

"I'd rather be sleeping."

"Such a smart ass," he mutters, placing his newspaper and my coffee on the nightstand.

"You love it."

"I do." The bed dips as he climbs in and I shiver at the feel of his just-in-from-the-cold fingers brushing over my hip. "Good morning," he murmurs, skimming the curve of my shoulder with his lips.

Before I can even answer, he's already up and across the room, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his shoes. I lean back against the headboard, sipping my coffee and watching him strip down to his skivvies and socks.

Sunday mornings with Edward are like Groundhog Day. He's up early to check the plants then off to the bakery for my coffee and scones fix. Typically we laze around all day, him reading his paper and smoking his joint while I eat my pastries and catch up on world events. And by world events, I mean celebrity gossip.

"What?" he asks, tugging his shirt over his head and folding it over the chair in the corner.

Realizing I've been busted, I bring my cup to my lips and raise a brow at his nearly naked form. "Nice socks."

Laughing, he belly flops onto bed beside me. "You love it!"

"I do." I kiss his temple. "And thank you for the Sunday morning special."

"You're welcome."

I go back to my reading, fully expecting to hear the telltale opening and closing of his nightstand drawer to retrieve his Sunday smoke then the flick of his lighter and the sounds of him settling into the pillows as he unfolds his newspaper.

But I don't because he doesn't.

"No smoke today?" I try to sound casual, not looking away from my iPad.

"I'm meeting your parents in six hours. It's probably not a great idea to get baked beforehand."

My head lolls in his direction. "Are you nervous?"

He nods slightly, unfolding his paper and ruffling it a bit.

"Don't be. They're going to think you're great."

The corner of his mouth turns up into a half-assed grin as his eyes scan the page. "If you say so."

Shaking my head, I go back to mindlessly eating scones and scrolling through websites. After about ten minutes, I find myself bored with the Kar-Jenner nonsense and indifferent on the latest scandals to rock Hollywood. I set the tablet on the nightstand and straddle Edward's legs, peeking over the top of his paper. "What'cha reading?"

Looking amused, he folds his paper down. "Local news."

"Anything interesting?"

"Probably not as interesting as Gossip Cop debunking rumors about Justin Bieber's penis."

I roll my eyes. "Listen, Gossip Cop is the last beacon of quality journalism as far as celebrity gossip goes."

"Sure it is."

I tear off a piece of my scone and I don't miss his eyes following the miniscule crumbs that fall to the bed which I'm almost certain he hates. "Wanna bite?"

He opens his mouth then wraps his lips around my fingers, sucking the icing off with a pop. "Delicious."

"Is there a real estate section in there?"

"There's a classifieds. Why?"

"Because," I say, rifling through the other sections of his paper until I find the one I'm looking for, "my lease is almost up and I need to find a new place by the end of next month."

"Another apartment?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Ang is all over me to buy and she's got this great realtor she wants me to use."

"Hmm," he offers in place of a comment.

I don't miss the way his brows knit together or that he presses his lips into a tight line.

"Hmm?"

"Well, yeah, I just, uh … I mean," he stammers, crinkling the paper in his hands. "Is that what _you_ want?" Tossing the paper on the bed, he puts his hands on my knees. "A mortgage, property taxes and a shitload of responsibility?"

"Pfft. No one _wants_ that." I go back to perusing the real estate for sale section. "But it's probably not a _horrible_ idea."

"Definitely not if it's what _you_ want."

"How about this one?" I ask, dragging my finger down to a listing. "Three-bedroom, quaint bungalow near the square. Newer appliances. Recently updated."

The furrow in his brow deepens. "Sounds like a freshly painted shithole with street parking."

"What about this one? Cozy two-bed—"

"AKA the size of a shoebox."

"Is it weird that I'm strangely turned on by the fact that you're so fluent in House Hunter speak?"

He grabs the classifieds from my hands and flings it to the floor. "Super weird."

"How's the new strain coming along?"

"It's getting there, I think."

I dip my nail beneath the hem of his boxer-briefs and bite my lip. "Is it another Kush?"

He shakes his head slowly while his fingers bunch up the edge of his old threadbare V-neck that I claimed as my own the first night I slept over. "It's a haze."

"A haze?"

Nodding, his hand creeps further up my stomach over the fabric, lifting it just enough to see there's nothing underneath. "A sativa-dominant hybrid."

"All head high?"

"Mostly," he whispers, tracing up the neckline of my shirt and slipping it off my shoulder. "It'll be the kind of high that feels like a rush." His words come out low and slow. "Total fucking euphoria."

I close my eyes, shivering at the feel of his fingers moving up my neck and his thumb barely brushing my bottom lip. My tongue peeks out, tasting the lemon-flavored icing on his skin. "Mmmm. Sounds like an amazing high."

"The very best."

Leaning forward, I steal a kiss then reach into his nightstand drawer to pull out a lighter and the joint he rolled last night. His palms run over the top of my thighs, inching higher as I bring the joint to his lips and light it. "And does the very best high have a name yet?"

Squinting, he slips his fingers beneath mine and closes his mouth around the joint, inhaling deeply. He props his arm behind his head and settles back into the pillows, watching my hand trail down his stomach then smiling as he exhales. "She does."

"She?" I go back to tugging his underwear down just enough to get what I'm after. "I was talking about the strain."

"So was I." His teeth rake over his bottom lip. "I'm thinking I should call it 'Bella Swan Haze,'" he hedges with his eyes flashing to mine. "I don't know though. The strain will never come close to the real thing."

I move my hips back and forth, moaning at the feel of soft sliding over hard until he's right where I need him. My words come out strained and quiet. "What will it … _feel_ like?"

He pauses a moment, taking another pull and making the cherry on his joint burn bright. His gaze lowers, taking in the sight of my body slowly sinking onto his. Smoke swirls all around us and a soft groan escapes his lips when I begin to move.

"It'll feel like this."

* * *

"Damn it!" I yell, slamming my hand down on the sink as I watch my toothbrush floating in the toilet.

Edward sucks in his teeth beside me. "Dude … that blows."

I bend down to fish it out. "Now I have to go to Christmas Eve with yuck mouth."

"Here." He pops his toothbrush out of its UV sanitizer. "You can use mine."

I stare up at his half-shaven face in disbelief. "For real?"

"Yeah, for real."

"Isn't that kinda … I don't know … gross?"

There's a beat of silence and if I were a betting man, I'd wager that the words 'you've had my dick in your mouth' are on the tip of his tongue. Wisely he chooses to play it safe instead. "I'm cool with it if you are."

He does his best not to make eye contact with me in the mirror as I smear the paste onto the brush and bring it to my mouth. "How are you not grossed out by this?"

Shrugging, he feigns indifference. "Because it's _not_ gross."

"My plaque and your plaque mixing it up in the bristles isn't remotely revolting to you?" My eyes narrow. "You won't even share a joint and now you're cool with sharing a toothbrush? I call bullshit."

He switches off the shaver and dips down to kiss my cheek. "It's different because it's you." I open my mouth to respond when I feel his palm land firmly on my backside, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't forget to floss like a boss."

And with that, he tosses the towel from around his waist in the hamper and straight-up struts out of the room.

"All right," I say loud enough for him to hear me in the bedroom. "But don't come crying to me tomorrow morning when your toothbrush tastes faintly like periodontal disease and Cheez-It's."

A few minutes later he appears in the doorway, wearing _the_ most questionable-looking ugly Christmas ensemble I've ever seen. "What do you think?"

"That's … wow." I'm nearly stunned into silence by the hot mess of fabric before me. "Ang might as well just give you the ugly sweater trophy."

"Light up, Mister Rogers-style cardigan, twelve bucks on eBay," he brags, showcasing the blinking reindeer nose lights on the lapels. "Paired nicely with a vintage mock turtleneck, courtesy of the Carlisle P. Cullen collection."

"That shirt's gotta be older than me."

"Topped off with some ill-fitting corduroy slacks and some hideous Christmas socks." He widens his arms, doing a slow spin. "Come on now. Don't I look ravishing?"

"I've got adjectives to describe this get-up for days."

"Handsome? Debonair?"

I snort. "Sure, we can go with those."

He swats me on the butt again. "Go get dressed, we're gonna be late."

* * *

"Here we are," I mutter as we pull up in front of my sister's house. "Are you ready for this?"

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I hope so. Any last minute advice?"

"Yeah, um." I lick my lips and smooth my hands over my knee-length Christmas tree poncho. "My Gram has glaucoma and loves to tell anyone who'll listen. So whatever you do, resist the urge to encourage her to treat it with Blueberry Dream."

He tilts his head side to side. "I'd probably recommend she use AK-48, but ..."

"Funny."

"Fine, no slinging dope to Grandma. What else?"

"When you're talking to my dad and he looks all constipated or whatever, he's more than likely not sizing you up. That's just his face."

"O-kay?"

"And if he does start asking you a bunch of questions, answer them quickly and succinctly. Try not to break eye contact or fidget. Otherwise he'll think you're hiding something."

"Good to know."

"Sorry. I sound crazy, don't I?"

"No, no. It's helpful." He smirks. "And slightly terrifying."

I straighten my giant gold star headband and check my make-up in the mirror. "He's a teddy bear, really, in a weird Ron Swanson kind of way."

"Great," he drags out the word. "Got any more intel for me?"

"Yeah, one more thing." I hold up a finger. "Compliment the spread. My sister's been planning this shindig since we got back from Amsterdam and God love her, she lives for this shit. Don't get too crazy, but a little flattery gets you everywhere with Ang."

"Got it. No drugs for Grandma, direct eye contact for the Chief, and low-key ass-kissing for your sister."

"Bingo."

We exchange a high five. "Let's do this."

"Aunt Bella! Mr. Edward!" Riley yells, running down the stairs full-speed.

"Hey Ri!"I open my arms wide to catch him, only to watch him jump into Edward's arms.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Edward! Look at my shirt." He points to himself as Edward picks him up.  
"It says 'son of a Nutcracker!'"

"It's funny 'cause it's true," he mutters while I kiss my nephew's cheeks.

"What was that, Edward?" Ang asks, slinking in from the dining room in her gold ribbon and bow-clad _Gangster Wrapper_ sweater.

"I said that Pinterest has nothing on you." He nods around to all of my sister's decorations. "This place looks great, Ang."

"Aww, you think?" She tries not to look smug as her eyes scan the winter wonderland themed entryway. "I didn't have enough time to do _everything_ I wanted, but this'll have to do." She waves us in. "Put your presents under the tree. Mom, Dad, and Grandma are in the kitchen."

Edward and I exchange a look when she walks out of the room. "Nice save."

"Bell-a," my mother sing-songs down the hall, sauntering towards us with a drink in her hand, a smile on her face, and a cross-stitched Santa sweater that reads ' _Where My Ho's At_.' "Merry Christmas, my beautiful girl."

"Merry Christmas, Mom." I hug her tight as she plants a loud, booze-scented kiss on my cheek.

"And you must be Edward." She practically pushes me out of the way, reaching out to shake his hand. "I'm Renee."

He smiles wide and takes her hand. "Great to meet you."

Clearly dazzled, but mostly intoxicated, my mom makes a show of winking at me and mouthing the words _he's cute_ as obviously as possible. "Charlie," she calls over her shoulder, "come meet Edward."

"Hey kiddo." He holds his arms out. "Come give your old man a hug."

Everything about my dad looks different. Oddly it's not the neatly styled coif or the dark-wash skinny jeans with the tapered leg. And even more shockingly, it's not even the silver-studded mid-life crisis happening on his earlobe. Aside from all of the above, he looks genuinely happy albeit slightly ridiculous standing there in his royal blue and white, _Let's Get Blitzen_ sweater, complete with two beer mug toting reindeer.

"Ooh, look, it lights up!" my mom squeals. "Charlie look, their noses light up."

"And speaking of _lit_." I glance at my dad and jerk my thumb towards my mother. "Has this one been hitting the egg nog?"

He nods. "The Very Merry Punch, actually."

Mom playfully slaps his arm. "Listen! If you two jokers were up at seven this morning, carving a train car out of a red pepper for the Veggie Express tray and building a nativity scene out of cheese, you would be getting very merry yourselves."

My dad kisses her forehead just as Edward reaches out to introduce himself. "Sir—"

"Call me Charlie," my dad interrupts, offering him a firm handshake. "It's good to meet you, Edward."

"Likewise."

"So Bella tells me you're a—"

"PARTY'S HERE!" Emmett yells as he bursts through the door.

"Merry Christmas everyone," Rose says, peeking her head out from behind him.

When she steps out, it's clear that they've taken their relationship to the next level. The sparkler on her left finger shining just as brightly as the bedazzled matching red with white fur trim velour jumpsuits they're rocking. They do a synchronized half-turn so we can see the rhinestone encrusted ' _Sleigh'd It'_ written across their backs.

My eyes widen. "You've got to be kidding me."

Em turns back. "Don't be jealous."

Rose smiles. "It was either this or he was going to show up in a sweater with Santa on the toilet."

"The one that says ' _Shitter's Full_ ?'" Ben asks, shutting the door behind them, wearing an atrocious snowman sweater vest and coordinating turtleneck combo.

"Emmett!" Riley shouts, bounding over with the biggest grin on his face.

"Son of a Nutcracker!" Em laughs, picking him up and tossing him in the air. "Boy, ain't that the truth."

Ang covertly flips him off, and I hear Edward and my father snicker beside me.

"Charlie," Emmett says, putting Riley down and widening his arms for what's sure to be a long, awkward bromantic hug. "Come here, big guy."

My mother and Ang swarm Rose, gushing over how beautiful she looks and making her feel welcome. Between my mother's offer to share her Very Merry Punch, Rose's awe of my sister's taste in decorating, and Ang's nod of approval as she inspects Rose's ring with her jeweler's loupe, I can tell they're all instantly smitten with each other.

"You look good, man." Em squeezes my dad's bicep. "Those kettle bells are really working for you."

I swear my dad blushes as he brushes off Em's compliment. "Well, yeah, I've been lifting a bit here and there."

Em's eyes flash to Edward and he jerks his chin at him. "How's it going, E.C.? You been icing that arm of yours?"

My dad looks puzzled when Em starts massaging Edward's shoulder, so I explain. "Edward's on Emmett's dodgeball team."

Em nods. "This guy's got a canon on him."

Edward shakes his head. "I don't, I just–"

"Don't be modest. E.C.'s a beast. Just last week he–"

I give Em the stink-eye, knowing he's about to tell my father that Edward broke some poor guy's nose last week. Grabbing his hand, I yank Edward in the direction of the kitchen. "Let's go meet my Gram."

"There you all are," Grandma Swan says from her seat at the island sounding like Selma from _The Simpsons_. "I thought you all forgot about me in here."

"Never." I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek. "How are ya?"

She shrugs. "Well I'm still alive, so I've got that going for me I guess."

"Gram, this is Edward."

"Ahh," she says, sizing him up as she takes his hand. "So you're the wacky-tobacky grower?"

"It's great to meet you, Ms. Swan."

"Come closer, I want to get a look at you." She pulls him down to eye level. "Can't see too good with this glaucoma."

 _And there it is._

"Handsome fella you've got here, Bells."

"I know," I sigh, smiling as Edward rights himself and puts his arm around me.

Gram cranes her neck to check out his back side. "He's got a nice tush, too."

"Hi, Grandma." Em's voice waivers slightly like a child who's about to be scolded.

She glances up at him. "Oh, it's _you_."

Fact. My grandma may be the oldest living petty person on the planet. She's like a walking, talking Kermit the Frog meme, complete with Lipton tea, though I'd venture to guess that there's a splash of bourbon in there somewhere.

Emmett grimaces and motions to Rose. "This is my fiancée, Rosalie."

"Rose," she corrects him and leans down to hug my Gram. "So nice to meet you."

"So you're the beauty and the brains of this operation, huh?"

Rose stands and smiles. "Obviously."

Gram points a withered finger at Rose, but looks at Em. "I like this one, Fathead. She's got pluck."

Edward mouths the word "fathead" to me and gives me a questioning look.

"Long story," I mumble as we head into the dining room.

Rose and Em follow us and Edward looks around to see if the coast is clear. "Dude, why does Bella's grandma hate you?"

"Because she's the devil."

"Emmett." Rose smacks his chest.

"She is. Three years ago, I called Bella at her dad's house and when she picked up the phone I may or may not have assumed she was Charlie."

"You kept calling her sir!"

Em's eyes snap to Edward. "E.C., be real with me right now. Does Bella's grandma not sound _just_ like James Earl Jones?"

Edward covers his face and Rose pinches Em's arm.

"Oww!"

"You stop thatl!" she scolds him.

"So what do you guys think?" Ang glides into the room, elegantly waving an arm over the buffet table.

"Looks great, Ang!" Edward grins. "The nativity made of cheese is quite the centerpiece."

She swells with pride and points out the different types. "The wise men are Brie, Mary and Joseph are made of Swiss, the stable is all Monterey Jack, and little baby Jesus in the manger is a tasty little Boursin. I call it Cheesus of Nazareth."

Rose gets her camera out and snaps some pictures of the spread for her Instagram while Edward dips down to whisper in my ear. "Should I tell her that technically it would be Cheesus of Bethlehem?"

"Let her have her pun, please," I say through a clenched-toothed smile. "It would ruin Christmas if my sister kicked you in the dick."

Em's eyes light up. "Dewww it! Hey Ang –"

Thankfully my infant nephew's wail sounds through the baby monitor and my sister races away to comfort him. The next two hours pass in a blur of cheese, booze and destination wedding talk. It's not until I'm clearing the dinner dishes that I hear the conversation I've been low-key dreading happening in the living room.

"So Bella tells me you're in the cannabis industry," my father starts, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

"Uh, yeah. I'm a co-owner and –"

"Anyone need anything?" I interrupt, trying to contain the crazy and failing miserably.

"We're good, Bells." My father eyes me strangely then turns back to Edward. "You were saying?"

"I co-own and operate a large facil—"

"You sure?" I cut Edward off again, cringing slightly. "Another Vitamin R, Dad?"

"Bella," my mom calls from the kitchen. "We could use your help back here."

I walk away slowly, listening to Edward give him the same spiel he gave me on my tour. My mom's got a bit of a 'tude, standing at the sink with her hand on her hip.

"Mom, he's like interrogating him Guantánamo-style out there."

"Your father's not interrogating him."

"He is. He totally did the arms crossed, dead in the eyes, blank face stare."

Ang nods. "He's really bringing his 'A' game, Mom."

"You two worry too much. He's just trying to get to know the boy."

Em peeks out into the living room. "E.C.'s handling it like a boss."

"What are they saying?"

Ang sneaks over to entryway and listens a few moments then comes back. "They're talking about legislation."

"Bo-ring," Rose chirps and Gram nods.

Ang eavesdrops some more and given her lack of reaction, I'm feeling pretty hopeful that the conversation is in fact boring. But then her eyes get big and she whispers, "What's a grow-ho?"

"What the eff?"

She holds her finger over her lips and waves me over to listen to my father speaking.

"There are several illegal weed farms up my way in Washington. The few we've busted have been pretty sketchy and demeaning to their female trimmers."

"I assure you, sir; our facility is one-hundred percent legit. Totally legal. And we'd never abuse or demean our employees in that way. Our Cultivation and Production Specialists are valued and compensated well for their hard work."

"So you don't make them trim in the nude?"

"Absolutely not." Edward sounds a little horrified at the thought of nudity near his plants, with the exception of that one evening in the greenhouse last month of course. "Employees are required to wear protective gear for the health and safety of the plants in the grow and production areas at all times."

My father hums, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "You guys are an all cash business, correct?"

"In accordance with state law, yes."

"Pay your taxes?"

"Of course."

"Do anything for the community?"

"Uh yeah, we do actually. We try to sponsor a few local events here and there, but mostly we're interested in contributing to the organizations that act on behalf of those suffering from the illnesses that medical marijuana can help to treat."

"How so?"

"A portion of our profits goes to a different cause each month. Epilepsy, ALS, Parkinson's Disease, anorexia, various forms of cancer, mental health charities." He's probably ticking his fingers off as he lists them. "You name it; we contribute to it through our Mari-Jane Project."

"I didn't know about this," Ang murmurs.

"It's Carlisle's labor of love," I whisper. "Lost his first wife, Jane, several years ago to a degenerative disease so he tries to give back any way he can. Now, shush." I go back to listening in.

"We'd be remiss if we didn't contribute to the communities that utilize and benefit from our product. If we didn't, we'd be profiting from their pain which is not what we're about at THC. If a cure is in reach, we're all for it, but in the meantime, we're here to offer some comfort and support."

There's an awkward silence for a few moments. I'm just about to swoop in and suggest some dessert when I hear Edward speak again.

"You should come by and tour the facility while you're out here."

I peek in and see my dad nodding his head. "I'd like that."

"Great." Edward slaps the top of his thighs and stands. "Excuse me for a moment."

He heads towards the dining room as I sneak into the living room with my father. "Well?"

His mustache twitches. "He seems like a good guy."

"He totally is, but what even with the grow-ho's question? And when did you become such a feminist?"

"When your mother gave birth to you and your sister, I suppose."

He's too cool about this. Too calm. I smell a rat.

"You did a background check on him, didn't you?" He looks away. "Clean as a whistle, wasn't he?"

"His financials look great too."

"Daaaadddd," I whine, mortified by my crazy cop father.

"What? Is it wrong that I care?" he asks innocently to which I scoff. "If it counts for anything I just asked for criminal history. My guy threw the financials in for free."

"You're awful."

"Debatable, but even if the background check came back bad, at the end of the day, I'd trust your judgment on the matter."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Good, because my judgment is telling me that your earring looks ri-diculous."

"I know." His lips twist into a scowl. "But your mom loves it and if this stud," he points to the earring then to himself, "makes _this_ stud more appealing to her, then I'm happy to do it."

By the end of the night, my mother's passed out by the tree next to my sleeping nephew, Ang has created an elegant vision board for Rose and Em's wedding reception, and Edward and I are the proud new owners of a Potty Putter Toilet Golf game and a Zombie Apocalypse Survival book, courtesy of our annual white elephant gift exchange.

"Goodnight, everyone," Em says, wearing his newly acquired poop emoji hat. "Merry Christmas."

Ang and Ben wave and Gram gives him the finger.

"That old bird is savage AF isn't she?" Rose laughs as she hugs me goodbye.

"Totally."

"So I saw you booked your room already for the wedding. Is E.C. coming with you?"

I shush her and whip my head around to see if Edward heard. "That's what I'm giving him for Christmas."

"A long weekend in Aruba? Good luck getting him to leave his plants."

"I know, right? I'm gonna throw in a Chipotle gift card to sweeten the deal."

"Well Bells," Em butts in, dangling our apartment key from his fingers. "It's the end of an era."

"You're all moved out?"

He slips the key into my hand. "I am."

"Did you take the Keuri—"

"Ssshh." He puts a finger over my lips then steps away. "Don't make this weird."

Opening the door for Rose, he looks back to me and gives me a devious grin. "I took all the toilet paper too. 'Kay, thanks, bye."

And then he's gone. Not that he's out of my life by any means, but he won't be there for the day-to-day and I kind of want to cry.

"You all right?" Edward murmurs against my temple.

"Mm hmm." I lean into him. "I just hate change."

"Change can be great."

The urge to roll my eyes is strong. " _Great_ as in a mortgage and shitloads of responsibility?"

"Mortgage! That reminds me!" The sound of Ang's voice startles us and we watch her scurry over to her purse. "I talked to Harry this morning and apparently there's a new listing that you may want to check out over on Claremont Street. It's a super cute little ranch with a small yard. Here," she says, fishing out a business card then handing it to me, "call him first thing on Monday for a showing."

"Ang, I don't—"

"He's got a few others you may like. I'll forward you the listings."

I can feel Edward stiffen beside me.

"Ready to go?" I ask, pulling him towards the door so we don't have to listen to my sister prattle on about real estate.

We say our goodbyes and hop in the car. We're barely out of the subdivision when my sister texts me a link to the first listing. "Charming three-bedroom all-brick ranch with detached garage. Quiet neighborhood," I read aloud. "What do you think?"

"It sounds nice if that's what you're looking for."

"The price is a little steep. I'd probably have to trawl Craigslist for a roommate which makes me think I should just rent, but then I have nothing to show for it."

Another text comes in. "Elegant new construction townhome. Finished basement and fenced in yard." I scroll through the pictures. "It's cute."

"Zero-lot-line?" he asks, waiting for the stoplight to turn green.

I shake my head. "No."

"Covered parking?"

"No."

"You'll be shoveling your car out all winter."

"Then that's a definite no."

His shoulders relax slightly, but he's still gripping the steering wheel like he's playing Mario Cart, all tight and tense.

"Do you," I hesitate, looking down at my phone. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter?"

"Kind-of," he blurts and it sounds a little sarcastic, but his next words come out much softer. "I mean, yeah. I uh…" his voice fades out as he hangs a right and pulls into a 7-11 parking lot. "Give me a minute, I'll be right back."

He throws the car in park and is out of the vehicle a split second later. I watch him acknowledge the clerk before slipping into one of the back aisles. He paces a bit and rubs his hand over his jaw. After a few minutes, he grabs something from the shelf then heads up to the register. Not wanting to look like a total stalker, I turn my attention back to my phone, forgoing real estate listings for a quick perusal of E! online.

The sound of the car door opening and closing startles me. "Sorry 'bout that," he says as normal as can be and tosses the bag on my lap.

I reach in and pull out a toothbrush. "Aww, thanks."

Staring straight ahead, his hands go back to clutching the wheel. "Cards on the table, Bella. If you want to buy a home or a condo, I'm one-hundred-percent behind you on that. If you want to renew your lease or rent a new place with some Craigslist creeper, I'm with you on that too." He turns to face me. "But if I had a choice in the matter, I'd prefer that you move in with me."

My mouth pops open but nothing comes out and his words just hang there for several moments.

He looks away. "Too soon then I'm guessing."

"No. Hey!" I tug on his sleeve. "I didn't even know that option was on the table."

"You've really never given any thought to us living together?"

"Of course I have, but like I said, I didn't think it was even an option. You never brought it up and your last experience with a live-in girlfriend was apparently an absolute shit-show, so I wasn't about to casually suggest that maybe I should move in."

"Well why not? You've stayed over just about every night since August. You already have a key, the password to my Wi-Fi and Netflix account, the keypad codes to the dispensary, and a considerable amount of my closet space. What would be so different if we were to make it official?"

"Lots of things would be different. I wouldn't be running to the gas station across the street to take a shit or strategically stashing Poo-Pourri in my box of tampons."

He smirks, clearly amused by this confession. "You shit at the gas station across the street?"

"Just about every day and I swear the employees are starting to suspect."

"Why don't you just go at my place?"

"Because nothing kills the romance faster than five dollar burrito night at LaBamba." He looks at me like I'm certifiable, but I keep going. "I'll lose all of my mystique and the next thing you know, we'll be farting on each other's pillows and dutch-ovening each other before work. I'm telling you, it's a slippery slope."

"Bodily functions are a non-issue for me."

"Good to know."

"Is shitting your only reservation?"

"Not exactly. I have one more."

"Let's hear it."

"We don't … fight."

"And that's … _bad_?"

"Not bad, per se, it's just a huge step to take when we haven't really had a legitimate fight."

"We've argued."

"We've bickered, but it's all polite and smiley. I'm talking about a knockdown, drag out with me screaming at you with a finger in your face, or you losing your shit on me for not rinsing the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher."

"I'm not interested in fighting with you to prove that this is a non-issue, but if we do this, maybe we'd both feel better if we aired out a few grievances."

"I'm game. You go fir—."

"The thermostat," he blurts. "I love you, but I _can't_ handle waking up sweating my balls off each morning to a balmy 76 degrees in the middle of December. Ideally I'd like it set at 69, but in the interest of compromise, I'll go as high as 73."

"Sounds fair. Anything else?"

"Yes, can we please remove the _Real Housewives_ recordings from the DVR?"

"Fine," I acquiesce.

"And all the _Outlanders_?"

"Not a chance."

"I had to try. Your turn."

"I _hate_ your coffee maker."

"We'll get a new one this week. What else?"

"I think that might be it. My disdain for your coffee maker pretty much overshadows any other legitimate beefs."

"I'm sure they'll come to you."

"Probably."

"So you'll do it?" he asks, pressing his forehead to mine. "You'll move in with me?"

"There's still so much to discuss."

"We'll figure it out, I promise, just…"

"Just what?"

"Live with me." Reaching up, he holds my face in his hands and skims his nose down mine, repeating himself softer this time. "Live with me."

"It's hard to take you seriously wearing that get-up."

A slow grin spreads over his face. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Good," he sighs with relief and plants a loud smacking kiss to my lips. "I thought I was going to have to run back into the store and tempt you with a sleeve of Oreos."

"That would've worked too."

"So we're really doing this?"

"We're _really_ doing this."

Smiling, he starts up the car and just as he goes to put it in reverse, I place my hand over his on the gear shift.

"Wait."

"What?" His whole body stiffens again and all evidence of a smile is gone.

"Nothing, it's just …" I tip my head towards the 7-11. "Maybe we should celebrate this huge step in our relationship."

He smirks. "Regular or Double Stuffed?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thanksgiving is tomorrow, but I'm feeling especially grateful today.**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, rec'd, pimped, followed, fav'd, and/or lurked this fic. Truly you guys make this so much fun! Big love and thanks to The Lemonade Stand and to Rita at Rob Attack for featuring Kush. As both a reader and writer, I greatly appreciate what you gals do for our fandom.**

 **Thank you to the good people at Leafly who provided me with a quality med-ucation on cannabis and the kind canna-sseurs on YouTube for the vape and trimming tutorials.**

 **And now for my loves …**

 **Yum – You, my friend, are like an OG Kush strain, crushing any worries or nerves I may have while writing and cooling me out with your chill, uplifting vibe. You're a gem, pal, and I'm so grateful for all the time you put in to this fic and for your friendship. Thank you for everything!**

 **Planetblue - Back in April, we all sat in a casino bar laughing and bullshitting back and forth about this story. I walked away from that conversation feeling legitimately high and more excited to write than ever before. You're like a smooth AK-47 strain, pal – sparking every ounce of creativity in me and amplifying the experience with your energy. Truly Aim, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. Thanks for all you do my friend!**

 **Carrie ZM – And you, my boo, beta, bestie … the genetics just aren't there yet to make a strain as dope as you, pal. We always have such a blast and I can't even tell you enough how much I love writing this nonsense with you. You're so fun and inspiring and so mother ducking patient with me. You're simply the best, Care and I appreciate you so, so much!**

 **Fandom … until next time. LAHM out!**


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